The Menagerie of Trees
by Melian1
Summary: The life of Legolas while he grew up in Greenwood the Great (Mirkwood) and his encounter with a very non-elvish woman. Not a Sappy Mary-Sue!
1. The Hands of a Healer

A/N Thank you to all who reviewed my first chapter, it is greatly appreciated.  
  
Also, I have included some definitions for some terms at the end of this chapter for anyone who has not read the books and in some instances the Silmarillion. There are only a few such words, but I was hoping it might make the read a bit more enjoyable.  
  
  
  
Chapter Two  
  
The Hands of a Healer  
  
Annalome held the bow steady as she eyed the target some 50 feet away. She took a deep breath and exhaled long and slow letting herself relax. The target seemed to become more focused, and everything else disappeared. Satisfied, her fingers pulled away from the bowstring sharply and loosed the arrow. With a satisfying thump it landed in the very center of the target and stuck. Smiling to herself she lowered the bow and admired the feat.  
  
"In the hunt or in the midst of battle you will not have the luxury of time to perfect your shot. You must learn to shoot quickly as well as accurately."  
  
Outwardly Annalome wore a mask of calm and restraint. Inside she was seething. At the age of five her father, Gaerlin, had taught her the ways of archery. It was one of the few weapons she had actually enjoyed learning, though like all the others in Thranduil's kingdom, she had also spent time learning the sword and the use of knives. It had been one of her great pleasures to practice shooting with Gaerlin, but in the past year Gaerlin had made her practice with his brother. The change was not a welcome one to Annalome.  
  
Gaerlin had always been patient with his adopted human daughter, and he had never ceased to provide encouragement even when he gave criticism. She learned much more slowly than an elf would, and her skills, though outstanding for a woman of her age, paled in comparison to even the least adept of the firstborn. As in all other things she was unable to meet the high standards of the firstborn, but she refused to stop trying. Some of the elves of Thranduil's realm looked down upon her for her deficiencies, but others were more like her father. Though she struggled on a day-to-day basis they praised her for her accomplishments and were ready to help her improve if need be. Then there was Legolas.  
  
Legolas was Gaerlin's younger brother, and it was he who had now taken over as instructor for Annalome's archery lessons. He had no patience for her, and he had never praised her for a single thing she did. In fact, she was fairly certain that with each lesson he tried to better the number of criticisms he provided for her. He had nearly destroyed whatever love she might have for the bow.  
  
"We shall try a new exercise. First, relax. Let your bow hang at your side, and leave the arrows in your quiver." Annalome did as she was told. "Now close your eyes." The young woman stared at the elf with a questioning look. "It is part of the exercise." Reluctantly she closed her eyes. "Good. Now, imagine you are walking through the forest, alone. A great wind is blowing causing the shadows of the trees to dance upon the forest floor, but under their protective boughs you feel only a breath of air. The rustling of the leaves is loud in your ears. Suddenly, a wolf appears in front of you. Unknowingly you have wandered too close to the place where she keeps her newborn pups. She charges. You have only seconds. Open your eyes and shoot." Annalome's eyes flew open as she pulled an arrow from her quiver and set it to the string. Raising the bow she noticed that the target was now ten feet to the right of where it had been. She aimed and let the arrow fly. It embedded itself soundly in the target a foot to the left of its center.  
  
"You missed her. Perhaps there would have been enough time for you to draw your knife and defend yourself, yet your only real chance of survival was to use your bow." She could feel his gray eyes upon her as he spoke, but she could not bring herself to look at him. Instead she stared lamely at the target where the arrow was. "You will practice improving your speed, and I am increasing your practice time to four hours a day. You are dismissed." With that the elf turned and walked back towards the great underground hall of his father.  
  
Annalome calmly walked over to the target to retrieve her arrows. She made great pretense of checking the shafts for wear and damage until the prince was out of view. Then, as quickly as she could, she threw her arrows into her quiver and then followed in Legolas's footsteps. She crossed the bridge over the Forest River and climbed the stone steps leading up and away from the riverbank, but when she reached the top she did not continue forward to the gates leading into Miregroth, instead she turned left and followed the path that lay at the foot of the mountain, which housed the great hall of the Woodland Elves.  
  
Small pebbles littered the pathway she trod upon, and she kicked hard at any that lay close to where her feet trod. Any elvish eyes that might spy her from a distance would likely not detect that she was angry. The last thing Annalome wanted was for Legolas to find out that he had upset her to the point of anger. In fact, she tried as best she could to remain emotionless and calm in the elf-lord's presence. Not an easy thing to do when you are a human among elves, but she had the advantage of having grown up with them. Her father had taught her well in how to read the physical signs of what a person was feeling on the inside. The blink of an eye or the position of a hand told much of a person's state of mind, and Annalome was better than even most elves at reading these telltale signs. Still, the elves had the advantage of being able to feel more than read a person – that extra sense which all elves possessed and gave them the advantage over all the other races. She could only hope that Legolas had not picked up on her fury during her target practice.  
  
Annalome rounded a large shoulder of the mountain and came within site of the stables of Miregroth. A large wooden structure that was not so much made of wood as it utilized the surrounding trees to form the basis of its infrastructure. A thatched roof had been made from the boughs of the trees themselves to keep the steeds and their food dry. The stables were very large for several hundred horses were housed there, and they required nearly forty of Thranduil's elves to maintain them. A familiar face was coming to greet her as soon as she had entered the gate leading into the stables. "Greetings, Rochir," Annalome bowed low before the Horsemaster.  
  
"Greetings, Annalome. Have you come to take Tinnuchwest for a walk?" The kindly elf smiled at her with genuine warmth. Annalome had always found a comfort in being around animals, especially the horses. The Horsemaster shared this love, and the two of them had been able to bond on that level so much so that the only elf she was closer with was her father.  
  
"Yes, has he been given exercise yet today?" Annalome smiled back at the elf.  
  
"Yes, but I do not doubt that he would gladly take more, especially with you." The Horsemaster motioned toward the heart of the stables, "My duty calls me to another part of the stables, or else I would accompany you. One of our mares is giving birth, and I must attend to her. The foal within her has not turned and so decided to come out feet first."  
  
"Do you require any help, Rochir?" Annalome really wanted to leave with Tinnuchwest immediately, but as she had a way with the animals she could perhaps be of some assistance in calming the poor mare.  
  
"Nay, all is under control. By the look on your face I would say you are in need of some time alone. Go. All will be well with the mare and her foal." Annalome bowed once more to the Horsemaster, and then he departed for the rear of the stables where all the foaling took place.  
  
Grimacing, Annalome moved towards the heart of the stables first grabbing a small feedbag and a skin of water. How had the Horsemaster been able to detect her mood? Perhaps she had let down her guard too much as she made her way towards her beloved horse. Still, she would have to remember that. At no time could she let her guard down lest the elves, or worse, Legolas, discover her mood. That would invite questions Annalome did not wish to answer.  
  
Tinnuchwest started stamping his feet the minute he saw her coming. He was a large stallion, solid black from nose to tail, a color deemed ill-fated by Thranduil's people. The elves had intended to give him to the Eotheod, the horse-lords who lived to the west, but for Annalome. She and the young stallion had bonded instantly, and she had begged her father to let her keep him. Gaerlin could deny her little, and so the horse had gone into her keeping. He was a proud horse, and would bear none other than Annalome, not even one of the elves. Like Annalome he was well taken care of, but he too suffered the indignity of being different and unwanted by Thranduil's people.  
  
"How are you today, Tinnuchwest?" The stallion stamped his feet and tossed his head in the air. Annalome laughed, "I see the morning's exercise was not enough to quiet you down." The horse snorted in indignation. "How do you feel about a long ride today?" She lowered her voice and whispered in his ear, "I have need to be away from this place and its inhabitants for awhile." Tinnuchwest whinnied softly and nuzzled her cheek. "Good, let us be gone then." Lifting the beam out of its cradle Annalome swung the stable door out and the stallion came out at a trot. She nearly had to run to keep up with her exuberant mount, but soon they were outside the stables. Immediately Tinnuchwest knelt down so that Annalome could mount him. Like the elves, she did not use a saddle, nor did she think Tinnuchwest would suffer such a device.  
  
Horse and rider followed the path back east toward the gates of Miregroth. They saw no other elves along the way, for which Annalome was grateful. She was in no mood to answer questions, and she did not think she was up to lying an elf. More than likely they would see right through it and prevent her from leaving. She continued east, past the way leading to the gates. Undoubtedly the guards had seen her, but she was permitted to take Tinnuchwest for rides close to Miregroth, and so the guards would likely think nothing of her passing. As soon as they had passed out of earshot, however, she urged the horse into a full gallop.  
  
Annalome laughed as the wind blew past her face, red-hair streaming behind her. There was no feeling in all of Middle-earth that the young woman had ever experienced like riding a horse while the wind whipped your hair. Crouching low over Tinnuchwest's neck she urged him left and right, easily threading their way between the giant oak trees of Greenwood the Great as good as any elven rider. The path she chose angled to the north away from the river and, hopefully, away from any elves who might be nearby. Those traveling through the forest would stay near to the river, but there was still a chance that she might run into the many companies that kept watch throughout Thranduil's realm. That was a problem she would deal with if and when it arose.  
  
It was only a few short miles to the forest's edge from Miregroth. Annalome and Tinnuchwest burst from the trees out into brilliant sunshine. The stallion slowed for a moment giving himself time to let his eyes adjust to the noontime sun, but soon Annalome was urging him on. With a jolt the horse leapt forward and they were soon speeding their way across the flat grasslands. The sunshine fell hot onto horse and rider, but the cool north wind brought refreshment and invigorated the both of them.  
  
Away to the east was a single peak rising high out of the flat grasslands. The elves had named it Erebor, the Single-Mountain, for so it seemed. It's nearest companions were the Iron Hills some 100 miles to east, and the Ered Mithrin, or Grey Mountains over 100 miles to the north. Erebor had always seemed so lonely, so out of place to Annalome, and yet she always took great comfort in its sad visage. It's stark stony face thrust up amidst the beautiful grasslands, and the steel gray peak stood in sharp contrast to the beautiful blue sky around it, yet it did not change. It did not crumble under the sky's cruel stare or allow the grasses to encroach upon its slopes covering its unattractive surface with more comely vegetation. It remained cold and bleak amidst the other beauty of the land of Rhovanion, and it made no apologies. Annalome urged Tinnuchwest towards Erebor each stride taking her further and further from the demanding and unforgiving elves.  
  
Try as she might, though, her mind could not leave Thranduil's people behind. She loved the elves. They were the only family she had ever known, but they were completely unable to relate to her, and rare was the elf that would even try. She had accepted her limitations as a human being from the very start, but there were those who were simply too embarrassed to be in her presence. Somehow her deficiencies were more of a burden to them than to her. It was as if being in her presence reminded them only too well of the gifts Illuvatar had bestowed upon them, and they felt guilty because the creator had not deemed to confer the same to the other races. It was ridiculous, and yet she could do nothing to change their attitudes, nor would it even be appropriate for her to try.  
  
There were many among the elves who had befriended her: the Horsemaster and her father, as well as a few others who seemed to enjoy her company though they made little attempt to seek her out. But there were also those who avoided her presence. They were never overtly rude to her in any way, the elves were much too proud for that, but they would not suffer long to be in her presence. Such was Legolas, and as much as Annalome hated to admit it, his disregard hurt her more so than all the others.  
  
Legolas was the youngest of Thranduil's children, only a mere twenty years older than she. When Annalome had learned this she had mistakenly thought that she might have found a kindred spirit among the elves. Legolas was a young elf who was also learning the ways of his people, might he not find companionship in another such person? Annalome had thought this extremely likely since the elf nearest in age to Legolas was 524 years old, but this was not to be. She had sought him out numerous times, but the prince had proved close-mouthed and usually found some reason to excuse himself within minutes of her arrival. He had been her one great hope for companionship, but Legolas clearly wanted nothing to do with her.  
  
Distracted by her thoughts Annalome did not notice the figures on the horizon until she was nearly upon them. A group of eight men with horses were huddled around something. It being too late to avoid them completely Annalome checked the knife at her belt. She did not expect trouble, but it was never a bad idea to be prepared. As she drew closer she could see that there were nine horses but only eight men. It stood to reason, then, that the object they were huddled around was the ninth man. As she drew close two of them aimed arrows at her but held fast. Seeing that it was a woman who approached, however, the two lowered their bows, but they kept their arrows notched and ready.  
  
"Halt in the name of King Badil of Dale!" one of the bowmen called to her.  
  
Instantly Tinnuchwest slowed and stopped some thirty feet from the men of Dale. "Hail, men of Dale! I am Annalome of Greenwood the Great. I was out exercising my horse when I saw you. Are you in need of assistance?"  
  
"Aye," said the same bowman, "we are, but only if you are skilled in the healing arts. One of our men was thrown from his horse when it stumbled. He has broken his leg, and it bleeds most grievously. We are binding his leg with a tourniquet, but I fear he will not last the return journey to our city."  
  
"Might I have a look at him, then, good sirs. I may be of some assistance."  
  
The two bowmen looked at each other. Annalome noted a slight tilt of the head from the quiet one, which indicated to the one she had spoken to that he saw no harm. "You may approach, but have a caution if you have a weak stomach for the sight of blood."  
  
Annalome dismounted and made her way to where the injured man lay. In truth she had studied little of the healing arts, and she knew not what drove her to see the injured man. Yet, something deep within her compelled her, and before she knew it she was kneeling at the man's side. "I am called Annalome. What is your name?"  
  
The man looked to be only in his twenties. His dark hair lay drenched in sweat on is forehead, and he was shaking slightly. "Mar . . . Markos."  
  
Annalome took his hand, "Markos, do not fear. I will mend your leg, and you will be home in time to partake in the nightly toast." Annalome knew something of the men of Dale since Thranduil did trade with them from time to time. The nightly toast was a long tradition in which the men of the city drank to the king's health at the setting of the sun." Markos smiled wanly at her. Moving to his injured leg, Annalome could see that the young man had indeed lost much blood, but the bone was not showing. Turning to the bowman who had first spoken to her she asked, "You have set the leg then?"  
  
"Aye, ma'am."  
  
Not knowing why she did so Annalome placed her hands above the gaping wound. Closing her eyes she offered up a prayer to Este. Suddenly, it seemed as if a warmth were coursing through her body from somewhere deep within. The sensation flowed outward through her arms and hands and into the wound of the injured man. He moaned softly as the energy coursed into him, but made no other sound. Annalome knew not how long she remained thus, but just as suddenly as it had come the warmth ceased its flow. Looking around she could see the sun was sinking into the western horizon. Annalome was shocked. She had spent two hours at this man's side. She removed her hands from the wound to find that only a scar remained of what had once been rent flesh.  
  
"By the Valar," whispered the nearest man to her. A second man whistled to the others who soon had gathered around astonished at the sight before them.  
  
Annalome was too stunned to notice. She had never performed any act like this before in her life, and she was unsure how she had healed the man. Nevertheless, she was certain it was through her that the wound had been closed. From all around her she heard frightened whispers and more than a few mentions of the word "sorceress".  
  
"Nay, good sirs, I am no sorceress. I have . . . an ability . . . to heal the sick and wounded, as I have done here with your comrade. Please, do not be frightened, but know I did this only for the good of all." The men relaxed only slightly and they did not approach her or Markos. Sighing, Annalome rose to her feet, "Please, your kinsman is healed, but he still requires rest and sustenance. I beg you return with him to Dale so that he may recover fully and quickly. It is time that I was on my way."  
  
"Yes, high time," a voice spoke from behind her. Annalome froze as she recognized the voice of the speaker as her father's. "It is many miles back to the forest, and we should be home before nightfall." Annalome turned to face the elf she called father, and was dismayed to see the form of Legolas on the horse next to him. The youngest son of Thranduil did his best to wear a mask of indifference, but the look on Gaerlin's face was entirely different. Rarely had Annalome seen her father so angry, and never at her. It was going to be a long ride back to Miregroth.  
  
  
  
  
  
Firstborn – the elves  
  
Illuvatar – God, the Creator, the highest of all the gods.  
  
Valar – the twelve highest gods under Illuvatar  
  
Este – one of the Valar, her specialty was healing 


	2. Default Chapter

A/N Let me just say for the record that this story is a huge indulgence for myself. I cannot deny that it is a Mary Sue because I would dearly love to trade places with this woman. However, I am a huge LotR fan. I have read the books numerous times over the past 15 years or so, but I also thoroughly enjoyed the movie. Personally, while reading the books I was always in love with Aragorn, but it would seem very wrong to me to write a love story for him since Tolkien has already done so. My two other favorite characters were always Legolas and Gimli, but I must admit never thinking of Legolas in a romantic way until I saw Orlando Bloom playing him in the movie. And since Tolkien did not provide the good elf with a love story, I thought I would do so here. But this is not some sappy romance, it will be full of adventure and drama based solely on the writings of Tolkien. Love was never forgotten in Tolkien's novels, but it always came hand-in-hand with the daily battles all men must fight, and in truth love always played a secondary role to ones duties as a human being, elf, dwarf, hobbit, or ent. So if you enjoy Tolkien's world, but do not mind a little Legolas romance please read on. If the thought of the elf falling in love makes you sick to your stomach, then please stop right here.  
  
Chapter One  
  
A Discovery in the Woods  
  
  
  
At a silent gesture from their leader the band of elves halted. This part of the forest, as most parts, was thick with trees and it was virtually impossible to see any great distance even with keen elven eyes. It was nearly noon, but only a few small shafts of sunlight were able to penetrate to the forest floor. There were large beech trees as far as the eye could see, gray ghosts in the ever-present twilight under their great eaves.  
  
Gaerlin listened intently to the sounds of the forest around him. All was silent with the exception of the breeze blowing through the topmost branches of the surrounding trees. This puzzled him for he was now certain that he had heard something. Twice he had heard it before, almost the mewling of a small animal to his ears, but had dismissed it when it had not continued. Now, three times his ears had picked up the noise and he was certain they had not been deceived.  
  
Turning around he looked at the faces of the elves that were following him. They too were listening intently, waiting for the noise to come again. Gaerlin's gaze rested on the elf closest to him. The elf nodded in silent agreement. There had been a noise and they would wait here to listen until it came again. The elves remained motionless, barely breathing.  
  
They did not have to wait long. After a few minutes there came again the pathetic sound of some small animal. Gaerlin immediately set off in the direction of the noise determined to find its source. The others followed closely behind. Like their leader they were consumed with curiosity and pity for whatever was making that sound. They had not come far when the poor creature let out another cry. Gaerlin adjusted his course accordingly and sped up his pace. The last cry had been clearer, and the elf was now more concerned about what the creature was.  
  
Rounding a rather large beech trunk Gaerlin came suddenly upon the source of the cries. A small human baby lay naked upon the earth. There was nothing else nearby – no blanket, clothing, toys, nothing. It looked as though the child had been abandoned in the forest to die. Gaerlin turned around to face the other elves, "Search the surrounding area for any sign of the one who left this child." Without question the others scattered to look for signs.  
  
Gaerlin looked down at the little human. By the looks of her she could not be more than a month old, but then again he was not an expert in human beings. The Wood-elves had few dealings with the men who lived between Greenwood the Great and the Misty Mountains. Still, she was extremely small, and reminded Gaerlin of his brother Legolas when he had been born. The baby's face was suddenly contorted as she prepared to cry again. Her small frame appeared to be shivering in the cool spring air, and salt from her tears was encrusted down the side of each chubby cheek.  
  
Removing the moss green colored cloak from around his shoulders and folding it into fourths, Gaerlin laid the cloak upon the earth and picked up the small child. Immediately she stopped crying. The elf brought her close and cradled her against his chest. The infant closed her eyes and began cooing softly. Gaerlin could not help but smile. The elves had always had a strange effect on humans, but he had no idea it could stop little ones from crying. There were undoubtedly many mothers throughout Middle-earth who would love to have an elf as a nursemaid. Laying the child in the center of his cloak he quickly bundled her up. As soon as he had put her down her face became twisted and a small cry escaped her lips. Gaerlin immediately picked up the bundle and the child grew quiet once again.  
  
Gently the elf seated himself on the ground cross-legged and rested the child in his lap. She opened her eyes and stared up at him. Gaerlin smiled down at her and the baby cooed yet again. Pulling the waterskin from his side the elf wet his long fingers then placed one inside her mouth. Instinctually the baby began to suck taking the needed moisture. He continued feeding her water in this fashion while waiting for the others.  
  
One by one the other elves returned. They had searched the surrounding area thoroughly but could find no signs of human or elf. Gaerlin considered this for a moment. With the exception of the Dunedain humans were not usually adept at concealing their tracks. Gaerlin reasoned that the child could not have been here for more than a day, more than likely she was left here that very morning. Had it been much longer the infant would have died from exposure or have been taken away by some animal for food. The situation seemed very odd to the elf, but he could think of nothing else to do but return with the child and let his father deicide its fate. "We will return with the child to Miregroth, and present her to my father. He will want to know of this strange tale."  
  
Gaerlin rose and walked back to the main trail, the baby still cradled in his arms. The journey back to Miregroth would take several hours. He and his company of elves had little in the way of food, and nothing fit for so one so young. He hoped the child would not begin crying again out of hunger. Gaerlin looked down at the little girl once again, but her eyes were closed and her breathing came in long, even measure. She had fallen asleep.  
  
  
  
The Forest River flowed swiftly under the bridge, it's dark waters headed east towards Long Lake. The way back had been uneventful and Gaerlin was glad to return to the great hall of his father, King Thranduil. He came to the end of the bridge and crossing a few feet of solid ground came to the steep stairs which rose along the embankment of the river. Gaerlin was uncertain how his father would react to this news, this child. Thranduil was not overly friendly with men, although he had always welcomed those of the Dunedain into Miregroth. He had never been outwardly hostile towards men, as he was towards the dwarves, but he was ever distrustful of any outsiders. This small child, however, should not evoke his father's mistrust. Still, her presence in the forest was extremely odd, and that alone would make Thranduil cautious.  
  
Crossing the large grassy area at the top of the stairs Gaerlin came to the gate of Miregroth. Two of his father's guard stood at the entrance. They bowed low as Gaerlin approached, but he caught the inquisitive looks they shot one another as he passed through bearing the small bundle.  
  
The tunnels were well lit with many torches, and the walls, which were flecked with gold, sparkled in their shimmering light. He passed few elves as he made his way to the Great Hall, but all looked inquisitively at the bundled cloak held tightly to his chest. He smiled to himself at the thought that none here would likely guess as to what it was he carried. The way was not long and soon he came to the open doors which led into his father's throne room.  
  
His entrance was immediately noted, and all those who were attending to his father bowed low as he approached the dais on which Thranduil sat upon his throne. Standing next to Thranduil was Gaerlin's brother, Legolas. He was drenched from head to foot and wore a scowl which could have curdled milk. Gaerlin was curious as to what had happened to the young elf, but knew that it would have to wait. Bowing to his king Gaerlin said, "Greetings father, how goes it with you this day?"  
  
Thranduil smiled down at his son, "The day had been going quite well, until your brother here had to be rescued out of the river." Gaerlin turned to stare at Legolas, whose face was now turning an interesting shade of crimson. "It seems that he was showing off his abilities in horseback riding to some of the young female elves when he lost control and tumbled into the river. Luckily he retained some of his wits and managed to swim to one of the banks where he caught hold of a tree root. A few of his guard were able to lower a rope to him and pull him to safety." Thranduil sighed in mock exasperation, "I don't think I can ever recall such a thing happening within the kingdom. Perhaps he hurt his head more than was thought when he fell from that tree last week."  
  
Gaerlin grinned at his father, "He does seem to be quite accident prone, Father." Legolas eyes shot daggers at his older brother. Gaerlin winked back at him. In truth, Legolas was only twenty years old, practically a child by elvish standards. But it had been quite some time since the wood- elves had a newborn elf within their midst, and many had forgotten that very young elves were only slightly more coordinated than humans of the same age.  
  
"What do you carry there, Gaerlin, with such care?" his father's voice rousing him from his reverie.  
  
Being careful not to wake her Gaerlin climbed the steps to his father's throne, and displayed the sleeping infant to him. There was very little that surprised Thranduil, but his eyes widened at the sight of the infant. "Where did you find this child, Gaerlin?"  
  
"In the woods about ten leagues south of here in the giant beech groves. She was not clothed, and I and my guard were unable to find any sign of a human presence within the area. I can only reason that she was abandoned, but where we found her is over one hundred leagues from the western edge of the forest. It seems nearly impossible that any human would come so far only to abandon a child."  
  
Thranduil continued to stare at the girl, "Perhaps that is not where she was abandoned. Perhaps some animal carried her from far away and left her there ere you approached."  
  
"It is possible, sire, but I think not. There were no markings on her body to indicate such, nor was there any evidence of a large animal in the vicinity."  
  
Thranduil shook his head, "This is very strange indeed. But I see no reason why this infant could be of any harm to us." The king held out his arms to take the child. As she was passed from Gaerlin to his father she awoke. Blue eyes stared up at the king of the wood-elves. "Come, Legolas, and look upon this human child.  
  
The youngest son of Thranduil was still soaking wet, and wished only to return to his rooms to change into drier clothing, but he knew it was no use refusing his father's request. He moved around the edge of the throne to look upon the little girl. "She is so small, so fragile. It is a wonder human children ever survive to grow old."  
  
Thranduil smiled, "Ah, but even the elves must start out so small and fragile. It is only by the careful watchfulness of their parents that a human or elven child ever grows old. You were even this small once, but somehow, despite your best efforts, you have grown up strong." Gaerlin laughed at his father's comment and Legolas's face darkened.  
  
"Father," Gaerlin spoke, "The child has undoubtedly not eaten in quite some time."  
  
"Here, Legolas," the king held the child out for Legolas. "Take her to the kitchens and see if there is some milk we can give to her." Before he could protest the child was in his arms. He was unsure as to how to hold her, but he emulated the cradling position he had seen his father and brother do. Thranduil nodded in approval and the young elf left the Great Hall in search of food.  
  
Turning to his elder son Thranduil placed a hand on his arm, "I can see you are already quite fond of the child, my son."  
  
Gaerlin nodded. "It has been nice to hold a child again, Father. I have not done so since Legolas was born, and before that it has been much longer."  
  
Thranduil smiled, "I know, for I feel the same way, but she cannot stay here, Gaerlin. She needs to be with her own people. She would feel very out of place growing up here." Gaerlin nodded. He had expected this. "But she shall not leave just yet. We are expecting Arantar's arrival in a few weeks. He is of the Dunedain and will better know what should be done with her. Until then I will leave her in your care."  
  
"Thank you, Father. She will be most welcome in my home." With that Gaerlin descended the dais, turned and bowed once more to the king, then departed to find Legolas and the child.  
  
  
  
One cycle of the moon had passed before Arantar, the crown prince of Arnor, arrived in Miregroth. Arantar had spent a great deal of time among the elves, both in Greenwood the Great and Imladris. The Dunedain knew the wisdom in learning from the elves, and all in the line of Isildur had come to study their ways. Arantar, the great-grandson of Isildur, had spent much time in Thranduil's realm and had made there many friends, including Gaerlin. His training was complete, but he still returned once a year to Greenwood the Great to see his friends. Gaerlin had been eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Dunadan, but now his feelings were mixed with some sorrow for he knew the baby would likely be departing with his friend.  
  
Arantar was told of the baby shortly after his arrival, and came to Gaerlin's rooms to see the little girl. "I am as baffled as you are, my friend, as to how the infant came to be so deep within the forest. But however it happened she is lucky that you happened along to find her, or else she would surely have died."  
  
Gaerlin nodded to his friend, "Undoubtedly so, but I have had time to think about this, and I think she was meant to be found. I am uncertain who put her there, but it was so close to Miregroth that I can only believe she was meant to be found by the elves." Gaerlin picked up the baby and cradled her next to him.  
  
"Do you think it wise then for me to take her from this place. If you were meant to find her, then there must be a reason why. Perhaps she should remain with you?"  
  
Gaerlin shook his head sadly, "How should an elf raise a human child?"  
  
Arantar laughed, "Much the same as you would raise an elf child I would imagine." Arantar held out his arms and Gaerlin gave him the child. Almost immediately she began crying.  
  
"That is odd," said Gaerlin, "She has not cried once since she has come to live with me."  
  
Arantar bounced the baby gently up and down making soothing noises. The cries of the child only intensified with his effort. Finally the Dunadan handed her back to Gaerlin. The crying softened then stopped almost as soon as she was in the elf's arms. "Well, she seems to have taken to you, Gaerlin. I wonder if she will suffer to be separated from you."  
  
The elf smiled sadly back at Arantar, "She has little choice in the matter, I'm afraid."  
  
  
  
The duration of Arantar's stay was filled with feasting, hunting, swordplay, and not just a little rest and relaxation. As in all places where the elves dwelt time seemed to slow down, but too soon was the Dunadan's visit come to its end. All had risen before the dawn to take the morning's meal together. Gaerlin had brought the child to the table and was feeding her cow's milk from a waterskin, which had been modified with a goat's bladder so that the child could suckle from it. The elf' face was etched with lines of sadness. "Where will the child go when she returns with you to Arnor?"  
  
Arantar took a large swig of wine and cleared his throat, "I know how dear she is to you, and so I will try to find a place for her within my father's palace. Perhaps my Father-sister would be willing to raise her. All of her children are grown and have left her hearth, and I believe she would be overjoyed to have another little one to look after." The Dunadan speared a large hunk of venison with his knife and popped the whole thing into his mouth.  
  
Gaerlin smiled, both at his friend's rough manners and at his gratitude in knowing the girl would be well looked after. "Thank you, Arantar. My fears have been relieved." The Dunadan smiled back as best he could while he continued to chew the venison.  
  
Too soon was the meal complete and Gaerlin was carrying the infant for the last time to the trail across the bridge from Miregroth. Arantar bowed deeply before Thranduil, "It has been an honor to be your guest, sire."  
  
Thranduil nodded, "The honor has been ours, Prince Arantar. Know that you are always welcome in the land of the wood-elves."  
  
The Dunadan bowed again to the king then turned to Gaerlin. Bowing once more to the prince he then grabbed him in a rough bear hug. "It has been good to see you again, my friend."  
  
"Ai, Arantar! Take care. You are pressing too hard on the child." Gaerlin shook his head in mock resignation, "I fear this child has a rough path ahead with only the Dunedain to take care of her."  
  
Arantar laughed heartily and clasped the elf by the shoulder, "Undoubtedly so, your highness, but soon she will be in the care of the good women of Arnor. Have no fear." The two grinned at each other. Arantar's guard were already seated atop their steeds and ready to ride. The Dunadan mounted his horse in one swift movement. Gaerlin cradled the child one more time kissing her gently on the forehead, "I name you elf- friend, little one, and bid you someday return to the realm of the Wood- elves." A small tear hung at the corner of the elf's eye as he held the child up for Arantar to take. Almost as soon as she was in the Dunadan's arms she began to cry.  
  
Arantar held her gently then turned to Gaerlin, "Do not worry, my friend, many of us feel as she does when we are sundered from the elves, but she will soon heal." The Dunadan turned his horse around then looked back over his shoulder, "Farewell, my friends. May we meet again soon." With that he nudged his horse forward and started down the forest path his men falling in line behind him.  
  
"Farewell, may your journey be easy, and may you soon see the warm fires of your homes," cried the elves as the men passed from sight.  
  
  
  
It had been a fortnight since Arantar had departed with the human infant. Gaerlin had been in mourning ever since that day. The other elves had grown increasingly concerned for him for he would not come out from his rooms, but spent the days lying in his bed mourning the loss of the baby. None, not even his brother Legolas, whom he loved dearly, could rouse him from his sadness. Gaerlin himself could not explain his attachment to the little girl, but he somehow felt as if giving her away had not been the right thing to do. A feeling had been growing in him that he was meant to take care of the child, and that he had failed when he handed her over to the men of Arnor.  
  
That evening as Gaerlin lay in his bed distraught a knock came at his door. The elf sighed. Undoubtedly it was family or friends come to lift his spirits, but he was not in the mood to humor them. "Please, come back tomorrow or the next day. I am tired," he called to whomever was at the door.  
  
The door opened. Angrily Gaerlin turned over to see who had defied his request for peace. "Legolas, did you not hear me? I said, go away." Gaerlin turned again to put his back to his younger brother.  
  
"I did hear you, Gaerlin, but I am not here to pay a social visit. Father has requested your presence in the Great Hall immediately."  
  
Gaerlin detected the sound of excitement in Legolas's voice. He rolled over to face the young elf, "Why? What has happened?"  
  
Legolas smiled, "I think you must see this for yourself, but I do believe it will brighten your mood."  
  
Gaerlin rose and threw on the tunic that was lying on a nearby chair. Quickly he ran a comb through his hair until he looked presentable enough for the king. "What?" said Gaerlin catching the grin on his brother's face.  
  
"Oh, nothing," replied Legolas, "It's just that I do not know why you are bothering. Compared to me you look like a troll."  
  
With a flick of his wrist the comb went sailing across the room to hit the young elf smack in the face, "I can turn that pretty face into a mess far worse than a troll's if you would like." Gaerlin strode past Legolas and out into the hall heading for his father's throne room. Legolas rubbed the sore spot on his nose where the comb had hit and followed his older brother.  
  
Gaerlin soon arrived at the throne room. His father was standing in the center of the room with his back to the door, and in front of him was Arantar. Gaerlin blinked in surprise and hurried over to his friend, concern welling up in him that something had happened to the baby. Hearing the approaching footsteps Thranduil turned around. In his arms was the little girl. Gaerlin cried out in happiness and went forward to take the child from his father. She did not wake with the movement, but as soon as she was cradled up against Gaerlin's chest she began contentedly sucking her thumb.  
  
Gaerlin looked inquisitively first at his father and then at Arantar. The Dunadan smiled back at his friend, "It seems you were wrong my friend. The child does have some choice in the matter, and she has chosen to stay with the elves."  
  
Gaerlin's eyes lit up in sheer happiness and he kissed the little girl once again. Still confused he turned to Arantar, "But how?"  
  
"For seven days we rode with the child to the feet of the Misty Mountains. Never once did she stop crying, and she refused to eat. I managed to keep some water in her, but she refused any of the milk we tried to give her. Finally I realized she was speaking to us loud and clear. She would return to the Wood-elves, and if that was not allowed then she would die."  
  
Gaerlin could scarce believe what he was hearing. The child had chosen to live with the elves or die? How was that possible? It seemed there was more to this human than meets the eye. "Thank you, Arantar, for bringing her back to us. If that is her choice then we will do our best to raise her." Arantar nodded in acknowledgement.  
  
"Your journey has been long, Arantar. Let us go to the kitchens and see what we can find for weary travelers." Thranduil clapped the Dunadan on the shoulder, "And our little one here must be very hungry. We should find her some milk, and Gaerlin will feed her."  
  
Thranduil's tone was light, but his sons could see the tension written on his face. Legolas turned to his older brother with a questioning look. Gaerlin shook his head. While the little human was a great joy for Gaerlin, he knew his father would not see it so. Thranduil had built this realm as a haven for the elves. A few Dunedain visiting now and again was one thing, but to raise a human child in the midst of their own was quite another. How was she to fit in? And how much of elvish ways should she be taught? How much of her own? And who was qualified to teach her? All these things weighed heavily on the mind of Thranduil, but for his part Gaerlin felt for the first time in two weeks that his world was as it should be. 


	3. The Prince Of Arnor

A/N – Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story. It is so encouraging to hear what people have to say about my story. I just wanted to let everyone know that Legolas will be taking a much more central role to this story after the next chapter. Originally this chapter and the next were planned to be one, but I think it would be too long. So, I divided the chapter up. I will post the next chapter as soon as I can. Annalome's story is not what you might expect, but that means she needs a history – and so, this chapter and the next will set everything up. Unfortunately the brat prince (Read: Legolas) I do not think would have much of an interest in a young human girl, and so he has been relegated to a minor role thus far. But trust me. He is the focal point of this story. Thank you for you patience. Read on, and if you have a moment write a quick note telling me what you think.  
  
  
  
Chapter Three  
  
The Prince of Arnor  
  
"To what end did you purpose to leave Greenwood the Great?" The hard stare Gaerlin afforded his adopted daughter would have been enough to send most humans to their knees, but Annalome beheld his eyes without flinching. Years of practice helped her to keep her composure despite the fact that inside she wanted to turn away from those piercing elven eyes.  
  
"I wished only to ride Tinnuchwest, Father," she marveled at how steady her voice sounded, but such thoughts vanished as she watched Gaerlin's eyes narrow, "Have I not given you leave to ride Tinnuchwest within sight of Miregroth?"  
  
"Yes, Father."  
  
"Then why did you go so far and into lands not guarded by the Wood- elves?"  
  
No longer able to bear the cold stare of her father, Annalome lowered her eyes. She did not answer immediately for she was uncertain how much she wanted to reveal. She was unsure how much longer she could bear her father's anger without losing control, and if she revealed the reason for her foray outside of the forest then the discussion might go beyond what she could endure. Yet, it was nearly impossible to lie to an elf. She allowed herself a small sigh as she once again forced herself to look into his eyes, "I had great need to be alone and away from Miregroth."  
  
There was no detectable softening of her father's eyes, but neither was there any increase of anger or displeasure. Annalome waited patiently for him to speak.  
  
"You had need to be away from Miregroth," the elf spoke softly, but purposefully, "and you could not find the solitude you required within shouting distance of the Hall?" Annalome shook her head but said nothing. "I can see that whatever it is that drove you to leave the safety of our land you do not wish to discuss. I would honor this if I could, but this matter is of too great an import." Gaerlin stopped short of saying more, and instead went to the nearby oak chest and pulled the bottle of wine from within. He poured two glasses of the dark red liquid and then returned handing one glass to his daughter. "Please sit, Annalome. You are doing a fine job of hiding your distress, but I know you as father should know his child. I will not deem it a sign of weakness should you take your ease on this chair."  
  
The young woman considering refusing his request for a moment, but quickly realized the futility of such an action. She seated herself upon the plush green cushion, and her father joined her in the chair next to hers. "Now, let us discuss what is at the root of this matter, for I think that before I decide what shall be your punishment I would know what led to such a rash decision."  
  
She was trapped, and stood as much chance of talking her way out of the situation as a fly escaping a spider's web. She took a rather large swallow of the wine, letting its warmness sink into her mouth and throat. The wine would dull the pain of speaking her innermost thoughts soon, but she could not delay. "I do not know how to begin, Father, but I shall try to explain what I can.  
  
"I have much love for the elves of Miregroth, and I could not imagine my life elsewhere. I think of all the elves as my family, and I know you look upon me as your own daughter. Yet, I do not believe the other elves think of me as you do. I will always be an outsider in their eyes, and so I feel as a stranger in their company."  
  
Gaerlin sighed at Annalome's words. He could not deny the truth in them. He too had sensed that the feelings of the other elves towards his daughter were full of misgivings. His father was ever distrustful and wary of Men, and so the elves of his kingdom had similar feelings. Much of the king's prejudice was due to Isildur and his failure to destroy the one ring after defeating Sauron at the Battle of Dagorlad. While Gaerlin agreed that, either out of weakness or a critical lapse of judgment, Isildur had failed in his obligation to all the peoples of Middle-earth, but he was not convinced that all men were subject to such imperfections of character. In this opinion the son differed greatly from the father. Gaerlin felt that there were those among Mankind who possessed vast recesses of strength and valor, though he did admit those were few and far between. Isildur, after all, had been of the highest lineage of men.  
  
"Annalome," said Gaerlin, "I can see the truth of your words, though I do not presume to understand your plight. You are dear to me in a way that defies explanation, and so I have allowed myself to turn a blind eye to your situation. I would not have you depart from me, and because of my selfishness you have suffered. Forgive me." Gaerlin's eyes did not waver from his daughter's, but she could clearly see the pain and suffering he now bore. In the throws of such high emotion the eyes of elves betray their souls, and not even an eternity of living could teach them how to disguise such deep and heartfelt feelings.  
  
A cold, hard knot welled up in her throat and as she fought the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Never had she seen her father in such a state, and she wished only to comfort him. But this was not within her power for she was the cause of his pain and suffering, and there was naught she could do or say to give him peace. Finally, at a loss as to what she should do, she took her father's hand and said, "I am sorry, Father. I did not wish to tell you of my true feelings for fear of hurting you, and now it appears my fears were well founded."  
  
Gaerlin squeezed her hand and smiled sadly at her, "I am glad you have told me of your feelings, or else your pain might have continued . . . indefinitely." Annalome smiled to herself. The enlightened elves of Greenwood the Great were still uncomfortable with the notion of mortality. The men of Numenor, guided by the wicked words of Sauron, had grown to fear death and eventually became envious of the immortal elves. In the end the Numenoreans bore arms against the gods themselves, and they suffered near annihilation for their deeds. But not all of the race of Men feared death, and though none had deemed speak to her about this, Annalome was not frightened by that inevitable conclusion.  
  
"My daughter, it may be that the elves can no longer give you that which you require. Though it grieves me to say so, perhaps it is time you considered leaving my father's kingdom to live amongst those of the race of Men." The words were heartfelt and sincere, but she detected the tentative undertones belying his true feelings.  
  
"I, too, have considered such a possibility," the words came slowly for she did not wish to bring further hurt to this elf that she called father, "But where would I go, and how would I live? I do not know the ways of men nor their customs. This is all I have ever known, and though at times I am saddened by the lack of companionship, I do not wish to give up all of this for the uncertainty of a life amongst men."  
  
At this Gaerlin smiled, "Dearer than daughter, think you that I would abandon you to a strange people in a strange land? Nay, if you were to decide to go and live amongst your own then I would assure you a home with those who are friendly with the elves, and who would teach you their ways. In these matters you will be provided for."  
  
Annalome had not considered that her father might seek out a home for her. This did indeed change matters a great deal, and with this new knowledge she gave serious consideration to leaving Greenwood the Great. "Thank you, Father. I know that your offer is a heavy burden to you. This matter is too vital, however, for me to rush to a decision. I must think upon it, and I do not believe the answer will come easily or quickly."  
  
Gaerlin took Annalome's head in his two hands and lightly touched his forehead to hers, "You are ever welcome in my home as long as I remain in Middle-earth. Take all the time you require, and please do not keep such heavy matters to yourself. I would help you bear your burdens, though they may pain me to do so. That is the promise I made when I swore to raise you as my own."  
  
Long did father and daughter remain together, taking solace in their love for one another. Too soon, however, Gaerlin released his daughter's head. "Now, there is the matter of punishment for your misdeeds." Annalome's heart sank at this. She had hoped her transgressions would be overlooked in light of their new openness, but seeing that this was not to be she prepared to calmly accept her sentence. "The Rochir is always in need of extra hands to clean the stables and feed the horses. I will inform him that starting tomorrow and for the next two cycles of the moon you will be his to command from dawn until second meal. " Annalome nearly grinned. True, there was not much that was pleasant in picking up after the horses, but there was nowhere else she would rather be. Catching the mood of his daughter Gaerlin's face grew sterner, "But this will in no way free you from your obligations to your lessons. I understand Legolas has increased your practice time to four hours a day, and I will continue to oversee your lessons in the History of Middle-earth. I expect no less than your utmost concentration and attention in these matters. Are you clear in these matters?"  
  
"Yes, Father," said Annalome. Gaerlin took her cheek in his hand and smiled at her. Then he turned and left the room. She drained the rest of the wine from her glass then grasping the goblet her father had left untouched she emptied that as well. There would be little time for rest in the coming days, but she would be able to spend time with the Rochir and Tinnuchwest. She had always loved studying with her father, and time spent alone with her bow was generally relaxing, although her arm already ached at thought of four hours. In truth, as long as she could endure the few lessons a week with Legolas all would seem well within her life. And in the brief moments between wakefulness and sleep she would consider her father's offer.  
  
  
  
"There can be no doubt. She must carry the blood of Numenor within her veins," the King of Greenwood the Great said to Gaerlin, his son. The two elves sat across a small table from one another in the King's chamber. "She has reached her fortieth year and yet she looks no older than a maid. Such youthfulness is not known amongst the Secondborn except in those out of Numenor, and even then I deem her countenance would be considered a rare gift. I would think she was of royal blood, even from the line of Elendil himself, but that I have never received news that such a child was lost. It is possible that she is of illegitimate birth. The royal line of Arnor seem of good worth, but who knows what a man might do when passion takes hold. They are the descendants of Isildur, and in his weakness he may have doomed all of his race."  
  
Gaerlin shook his head, "Perhaps she is of the men of Arnor, but she has lived here for all her years and knows only the elves as her family."  
  
"Which is why I did not wish for her to remain in my kingdom from the first. The elves do not make suitable companions for the Secondborn. They feel lessened in our presence. And they compensate by either trying to do that which is beyond their means or they become despondent and melancholy because of their lack. Both ends lead to death, is that what you wish for Annalome?" Thranduil glared at his son in such a manner that most of his kingdom would depart from his presence as soon as could be, yet Gaerlin was his son and not so easily cowed.  
  
"Nay, Father, that is not what I wish, but I do not think we should force this upon her. Should she be given a choice: whether to remain among us or to seek her fortunes elsewhere. How can we who have raised her now force her from her home?" Gaerlin's voice had risen almost to shouting.  
  
King Thranduil of Greenwood the Great did not suffer insolence readily, and as Gaerlin finished he rose from his chair to stand over his second eldest son. "I am your father, and because of that you should show me more respect than to raise your voice to me." Thranduil's eyes were practically aflame, "But more than this I am your KING, and none of my subjects should speak to me thus and not suffer punishment for their disrespect!"  
  
Gaerlin remained seated but his gaze did not waver from his father's. He could not win this contest of wills, but he would not easily admit defeat. After a few tense moments Gaerlin dropped his eyes and bowed his head, "Forgive me, Sire. I have spoken in haste and out of concern and love for my daughter. I meant no disrespect."  
  
Thranduil slowly took his seat. Raising his head once again Gaerlin's gaze rested on his father's. The King sighed, "You have ever been proud, my son. It is a weakness you have inherited from your father, I fear, and because of it we seem to ever be at odds with one another." Thranduil sat back and considered his son. For his part Gaerlin remained silent, knowing that there was little he could say to his father at the moment. After a short while the King continued, "Go and speak with Annalome. Tell her of our concerns for her, and give her the choice to remain here or to go. Tarcil, the crown prince of Arnor, will be coming here before the next full moon. If Annalome decides to go, I will ensure she will have a place in Arantar's household, and she can depart for Annuminas with Tarcil when his visit has ended."  
  
Gaerlin rose and then knelt before the King, "Thank you, Sire. It will be as you command." Gaerlin rose quickly and departed in search of his daughter.  
  
  
  
The crown prince of Arnor took a deep breath, and steadied his nerves. This was his first long journey away from home without the accompaniment of one or both of his parents. So far, it had proven to be all that he had hoped for.  
  
Near to the eaves of the Old Forest he and his guard had been surprised by a band of thieves. The thieves had numbered close to that of he and his men, and so it had been impossible for the guard to keep him from the fight. Tarcil had received his first taste of battle. Years thought given over to doubt and concern for how he would respond to having his life threatened thus were gone in an instant as he had rushed to join the fray. When it was over he had performed admirably and received the praise of the hardened warriors who served as his entourage.  
  
Arriving at the foot of the Misty Mountains he had spent time in the peaceful beauty of Rivendell. He had been to Elrond's home many times with his mother and father, and as usual time had seemed to slow down while he remained there. As his father and grandfather had done, Tarcil had become friends with the twin sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir. The three had spent the days practicing with swords and the bow as well as hunting the wild boars that lived in the foothills of the Misty Mountains.  
  
Lastly, soon after they left Rivendell a Stone-troll had stumbled into their camp, and they had spent much of that evening defending the it. Eventually they managed to bring the troll down, and Tarcil had stood amazed as he watched the lifeless body turn to stone while the sun crept over the tops of the mountains. His journey to Greenwood the Great had definitely not lacked in adventure, but now the Prince's excitement was falling prey to the growing anxiety of finally arriving at his destination.  
  
It was not being amongst elves that concerned him. He had spent much time with Elrond's people, and although the elves could be aloof and difficult to understand at times Tarcil found that he enjoyed their company at most times. It was the king of this realm which occupied the young man's thoughts. He had heard many rumors of Thranduil's temper as well as his dislike for the race of men. Many of his friends had warned him that if he even so much as looked at Thranduil in a way that displeased him he would be thrown into the dungeons of Miregroth. However, Tarcil was wary of such rumors especially in light of the fact that none of the men who had spoken of Thranduil had ever met the King of the elves. Yet, though rumor rarely proved to be completely true it was often based in truth. Tarcil though it best to consult his father on the matter, but his father, who had come to Greenwood the Great many times as a young man, would only say that Thranduil was stern but fair.  
  
Tarcil glanced around him, and noticed that the trees in this area of the forest were all Beeches. Directly in their path there was a small hill rising before them. Though he had never been to Miregroth before his father had told him of the home of the Silvan elves many times, and the young man rightly guessed that he had reached his final destination. Soon he and his men were crossing over the Forest River and approaching the gates of Miregroth.  
  
The company dismounted on the greens before the gates leading into the underground hall. Standing there were five elves. The first stepped forward and bowed low before the young prince, "Greetings Prince Tarcil of Arnor. I have been given the honor of first welcoming you to Miregroth, but others of greater lineage shall greet you anon. I am the Horsemaster. I and those who serve me will make sure your steeds are well taken care of during your stay.  
  
Tarcil nodded and handed his reigns to the elf, "We are well met indeed to be greeted by the Rochir. You have my thanks for the care of our beasts." The Horsemaster bowed low before the young prince, but not before Tarcil had detected a note of surprise in referring to the Horsemaster by his Sindarin title. The other four elves took the reigns from the men of his guard, and with a bow they departed down the path leading westward from the gate. Tarcil noted that the Horsemaster and his elves had numbered five, only what was required for each man's horse to be attended by a single elf. The king had been aware of their number, and yet they had not detected a single elf during their journey through the wood. Tarcil knew only too well that any elf who did not wish to be seen by human eyes would remain elusive for as long as they wished it, but it was a sobering reminder to the young prince of the differences between man and elf.  
  
During the time they had handed their horses over to the Horsemaster another elf had approached the company from the open gates. Like all the elves he was tall and fair. Golden hair fell about his shoulders, and his gray eyes seemed to bore into Tarcil's mind. The sensation was not comfortable, but he had grown somewhat used to it in all the time he had spent with Elladan and Elrohir. Something of the way he carried himself bespoke of royal blood, and Tarcil wondered if this might be one of the sons of Thranduil. The elf inclined his head towards Tarcil, "Welcome, Prince Tarcil, to Miregroth, the great hall of the elves of Greenwood the Great. I am Legolas, Prince of the realm, and youngest son of Thranduil the king."  
  
Tarcil returned the gesture, "You have my thanks, Prince of Greenwood the Great. Many years have I wished to visit your father's kingdom. My heart is glad that I should at last come hither."  
  
Elven eyes bore into Tarcil. Normally elves were aware of the unsettling effect their stares had on the Secondborn, and so were often careful to limit the extent of their gazes. Legolas, however, seemed not to heed such etiquette and it was all Tarcil could do to not fidget under such scrutiny. The tension grew as the elf continued his inspection, and Tarcil was about to suggest moving into the hall proper when it occurred to him that Legolas was very young for an elf. He had limited experience with men, and so did not yet understand all their frailties. The sounds of Tarcil's men shuffling their feet behind him shook both princes from their thoughts. Legolas smiled at the others, "You must be weary from your travels. If you will follow me I will show you to your rooms, where you may rest. The King has planned a feast in your honor, but that is not until after sundown. Until then you may take your leisure." Turning on his heel, the youngest son of Thranduil led Tarcil and his men into the heart of Miregroth. 


	4. From the Balcony

A/N - First of all - Thank you so very much to everyone who has reviewed this story. It is so nice to receive feedback, and it has truly inspired me to write more.  
  
Secondly, I apologize wholeheartedly for taking so long to write this next chapter. I would like to say that FF.net's big problems earlier in the summer contributed to my lack of enthusiasm, but in truth I simply lost my muse. I will not lie, I am a very Aquarian individual, and this means I write a lot for a period of time and then nothing at all for a period of time. I believe my muse is returning, so hopefully the chapters will begin coming at a more regular interval.  
  
Lastly, there have been some questions in the reviews which I would like to address here. Tarcil is the great great grandson of Isildur. He ruled Arnor from 435 - 515 in the third age. This is about 1500 years prior to the Battle of Fornost and 500 years after the Battle of Gladden Fields when Isildur was killed. For those of you who are not Tolkien freaks this means that he was born and lived in a time after Sauron was defeated and Isildur took the ring, but before the Ringwraiths and other followers of Sauron began to reappear and wreak havoc upon the world prior to the events described in Lord of the Rings. In general it was a relatively peaceful time.  
  
This brings up the question of how old everyone is. Annalome is about 41 years old in this chapter you are about to read, and my assumption is that Legolas is 20 years older than her. As near as I can tell Tolkien did not give an exact birthdate for Legolas, but I think most people assume he was born early in the third age since there is no mention of him at the Battle of Dagorlad or the Battle on the slopes of Mount Doom, which ended the second age and was where Isildur cut the ring from Sauron's hand. Tolkien wrote that Arwen was the youngest of the elves in Middle Earth and she was born in 241 of the Third age, and I just assumed that Legolas was born just before her. So I am working under the assumption that the year is about 250 of the third age as I write this chapter. I know that it says above that Tarcil ruled from 435 to 515, but he was of the blood of Numenor and so he and all of Isildur's line lived longer lives - I estimated at this point in time the average king lived about 300 years so Tarcil would have been born in about 215. Anyway, it's imperfect, but I tried to stay within Tolkien's backstory.  
  
As for Legolas and Annalome - their relationship will be expanded on soon. I know I promised in Chapter Three to bring her and the elf together by Chapter Five, but I beg your indulgence. I need one more chapter to discuss Annalome and Tarcil. This chapter was turning into a monster, so I decided to cut it in half. The second half should be coming soon. Some have asked why Legolas is so cold to Annalome, and to that I can say only this. I am trying desperately to remain true to the characterizations Tolkien gave to the elves as I write this story. I do not think Legolas would have been overly fond of a human girl when he was the youngest of the elves. I think he would have desperately been trying to become a more mature elf, and humans did not fit into that equation. It is my personal vision of how I think they would have interacted as they were younger, but if you read in this next chapter Legolas has some insight into his relationship with Annalome which shows he is maturing. I give full warning now - if you are reading this story in the hopes that it will become a classic romance between Annalome and Legolas then you will be disappointed. They will come to love each other very much, and they have much to contribute, but their ultimate paths lie in very different directions. In Tolkien's work he described only three elf-human relationships, and I do not think I could dare write a fourth. But there is a great deal of, shall we say . . . tension between the two in the coming chapters.  
  
OK, I have written way too much for an Author's Notes section, but I did want to address some of the questions. Thank you again for your kind words, and for your patience.  
  
  
  
Chapter Four  
  
From the Balcony  
  
Tarcil sighed with great relief as he quickly unfastened all the buttons down the front of his coat. He had dressed early this morning in his most formal attire in anticipation of his arrival at Miregroth. The coat was the blue of late twilight with golden buttons down the front and slate grey cuffs and collar embroidered with the flowering Larielosse tree of Numenor. The coat was fitted across his torso but flared at the waist ending at the knees and covering the majority of the grey breeches he wore underneath. His attire marked him of the royal line of Arnor, but it had been meant to be worn only in the most formal of occasions and thus far had made for one of the most uncomfortable rides of the young prince's life. Shrugging out of the confining coat, Tarcil set it over a nearby chair. He grimaced at the thought of donning the coat later that evening for the welcoming feast.  
  
In short order the prince had washed away the dirt and dust, which always accompanied such long journeys and had splashed a bit of scented water about his neck. The scent was unknown to him - earthy and pungent - and Tarcil thought it must have been concocted from several different flowers and barks to produce such an unusual fragrance. Smiling he stared into the mirror which had been hung above the washbasin. He had shaved this morning, but the afternoon was waning and stubble was again evident on his face. Removing a long, wide knife blade from his pack he carefully shaved the offending hairs. When he had completed this he stared into the mirror once more. Wavy, black hair hung to his shoulders. If it could not be called tidy, exactly, it was passable. The soft curls hid imperfections, which those with straighter hair could not have concealed.  
  
Satisfied with his appearance Tarcil looked around the rooms he had been provided with. The furniture was made of a white stone with veins of blue running through it, but all was covered in lush cushions the fabric of which was dyed to match the browns and greens of the forest outside. In the far corner was a bed, which looked somewhat inviting after his long journey, but the Crown Prince of Arnor was much too nervous to even consider sleep.  
  
Soft white curtains, which were almost transparent, billowed from an open balcony near to the bed. Tarcil marveled at the material of the curtains, and moved to examine them closer. The material felt light and silky between his fingers. Looking more intently he could discern no threads or needlework that might have created such material, and he shook his head in amazement at the extraordinary gifts and abilities of the elven race.  
  
Gently he pushed the curtains aside and stepped out onto a small balcony. The balcony had been carved, along with the room, directly out of the hill under which Miregroth lay. As with all parts of Thranduil's home the earthen floor had been covered with great slabs of the same white stone the furniture was made of. The railing was also made of the blue-veined stone, but had been carved to look like the leaves of the Birch trees that could be seen in every direction. The live Birch trees swayed slightly in a gentle breeze, casting dappled spots of sunlight onto the balcony, which danced before his eyes.  
  
The young prince breathed deep of the wholesome air, and instantly felt muscles, which were tense and strained from the hard rides of previous days, loosen and relax. He drank in the beauty, marveling at the serenity that surrounded him. It was the same sensation he felt during his stays in Rivendell, and Tarcil wondered idly if the elves had picked these places because of an inherent serenity within the very earth or if it was the elves themselves who brought such peace and tranquility to the lands they chose to inhabit.  
  
How long he remained thus, merely immersing himself in the curative powers of Greenwood the Great, the prince was uncertain, but he came to with a start at the snap of a bowstring, followed by the whistle of an arrow in flight, and ending with a resounding thump as it hit its target. Glancing down he noticed a small glade where the trees opened up to allow full sunshine to fall on its green grass just off to his left, and standing at one end of the glade was something the prince did not expect - a young girl.  
  
Tarcil, son of Arantar, King of Arnor, was no stranger to women. Many ladies of the royal court had given him their attentions, some even more so than their mothers or fathers would have thought proper. He was the crown prince, after all, and there was much to be gained for the family of his chosen bride. He encouraged all of them, but only for the pleasures of their company at that moment. No woman had yet been able to win his heart, and as he was quickly approaching his thirtieth year there was a great deal of pressure from his father and mother to wed. But the prince found the ladies of Arnor to be dull and wholly without spirit. The King advised him that marriages in the royal family were generally done for political gain, and rarely for love, but Arantar doted on his son and could deny him very little. Therefore, Tarcil had remained unwed for five years longer than any crown prince before him.  
  
So it was that Tarcil came to be enchanted and enthralled with the girl below him. Her gown was of the palest green silk, and flowed to the ground unhindered in elvish fashion. Her red hair, pulled back at the nape of her neck, fell in ringlets down her back. Her hands were gloved in the same silky material of the dress, and he watched with rapt attention as she set arrow to string, drew the bow, and without a moment's hesitation loosed it. The arrow pierced the target precisely at its center, but before the first arrow had even found its mark she had turned neatly to her right and drew and released another arrow. This time she spun on her heel, dress twirling around her lithe body to face directly behind her, and no sooner had she done this then another arrow was on its way. Lastly, she turned to her left and let fly a final shot. Tarcil's eyes widened in disbelief. With the exception of the third arrow, whose target faced away from his vantage point and so the prince could not verify that shot's accuracy, the woman had pierced each target at its core without so much as a moment to align the shot. Even the best archers in his father's army could not have achieved such perfection.  
  
As the girl was retrieving her arrows from their various targets an elf approached and began to speak with her. Tarcil recognized the elf as Legolas, the one who had greeted him at the gate to Miregroth. The conversation between the two was short, and the elf-prince departed in the same direction he had come from. The girl retrieved her arrows from the targets, returned them to her quiver, and throwing her bow over one shoulder returned to the halls of Miregroth.  
  
Tarcil was disheartened to see her leave, but slowly a smile crept across his face. Unlike the royal ladies at the courts of Annuminas whose likes, dislikes, and opinions were carefully crafted to mirror his own, this woman was a glorious mystery. His heart raced at the thought of unraveling that mystery. Turning around the Crown Prince of Arnor left the balcony and picked up the blue jacket off the chair. For some reason the coat did not seem as uncomfortable as he quickly fastened the golden buttons. He pulled at the flared waist and adjusted the coat over his broad chest. With a final glance in the mirror to reassure himself that all was in order Prince Tarcil hurried out of his apartments to search for Prince Legolas.  
  
It did not take him long to locate Thranduil's youngest son. The first elf he encountered after he left his rooms graciously offered to take him to the prince personally. He followed his escort through a maze of corridors and the prince soon became lost. The only direction he was certain of was up. They ascended three staircases which must mean they were rising into the very heights of the hill under which Miregroth lay. Tarcil rightly guessed that the topmost level must house the royal apartments.  
  
In short order Tarcil's guide led him into a large, round sitting room. The furniture in this room was a match for that in his own apartments. A small fire burned in the center of the room, the smoke tracing its way up to the ceiling and out a small hole in its center. The same stone furniture was spaced throughout the room, and if anything the pillows and cushions were even more luxurious as they were all covered in the finest silk. Small braziers spaced evenly around the room cast some light, but the walls themselves seemed to glow a golden yellow adding warmth to the windowless room. At regular intervals there were vast doors of white carved on the front like two greet Beech trunks. It was at one set of these doors that Tarcil's elven guide stopped and knocked gently.  
  
Tarcil was surprised that Legolas himself answered the door. Were he at home in Annuminas there were servants and a secretary, who guarded and protected his apartments from unwanted visitors. The elf-prince's eyes widened only slightly at the sight of his visitor.  
  
"My Lord," the other elf bowed low before the son of his king, "Prince Tarcil has requested to speak with you."  
  
Legolas nodded, "Thank you, Edhuil." The elf bowed again and made his exit. "Please come in, your grace."  
  
As he entered the prince's chambers Tarcil drank in the décor. He had seen few of the private chambers of the Firstborn, and he was uncertain what to expect from a prince of the elves. What he found was not what he expected. The room was beautiful but simple in design. The same gauzy white material that provided curtains in Tarcil's rooms was hanging on many of the walls, and through them he could discern that the walls here also glowed with a faint yellow. The furniture was much the same as that which he had seen, but the colors of the cushions included a pale blue color to contrast the earthy green and brown. The most extravagant part of the room was the ceiling, which had been painstakingly painted to look like the summer sky as seen through the upper eaves of the massive Beech trees that grew around Miregroth. The painting almost seemed to shimmer as if the leaves were quaking in a gentle breeze.  
  
"It was painted by my mother in anticipation of my birth. She spent much of her life in the woodlands of Ossiriand, and found this underground hall confining. She has painted such murals in my brothers' rooms as well." Legolas motioned for Tarcil to sit down on one of the enormous chairs in the room. "In my bedchamber the scene is much the same only under a moonless night sky." The elf-prince moved to a small table in the corner of the room, "May I offer you some wine, Prince Tarcil?"  
  
"A glass of wine would be most welcome, your highness. And please, call me Tarcil. I am not much of a man for formalities."  
  
Legolas smiled almost to himself, "Very well, Tarcil, then you must call me Legolas." The elf returned to the chairs with two glasses of a dark red wine and handing one to Tarcil seated himself in a nearby.  
  
Tarcil took a sip relishing in the fruity taste of elven wine. "There is no finer wine than that made by elves. It is almost as if the grapes themselves fall under your spell and produce a juice all the sweeter for it."  
  
Legolas laughed, "Perhaps you are right, for the elves do have an effect on all living things, but perhaps it is just that we have had more time to perfect the art of winemaking."  
  
Tarcil took another mouthful of the delicious wine and sighed contentedly, "In truth I care not how or why the wine is beyond compare. It is enough that I am able to partake." Tarcil allowed himself a few more moments to relish in the taste. After another full mouthful he gave his full attention to the elf-prince, "Thank you for allowing me to interrupt your day, Legolas. I do not make it a habit to barge into other people's rooms without warning, but I was inspired to talk with you immediately."  
  
Legolas's eyes rose slightly in curiosity, and again Tarcil was struck by how young this particular elf was. It was usually very difficult to read elf expressions and faces even for one trained in the art as Tarcil was, but Legolas was almost an open book to him. "I was not aware that there were other guests here in Miregroth."  
  
Legolas's look of curiosity changed quickly to one of confusion, "You and your men are currently the only guests here at Miregroth. Why do you think otherwise?"  
  
"Outside my balcony today was a human maid practicing archery with a skill I have seen only in those of your race, Legolas. Surely she must be here as a guest of your father's."  
  
Legolas smiled, "I stand corrected, Tarcil, she is a guest of the Woodland elves. Only she has been granted leave to remain here for all of her days."  
  
Now Tarcil's interest was truly piqued, "How did this come to be? I was not aware that King Thranduil allowed those of my race to dwell within his halls."  
  
"He does not." The corners of Legolas mouth turned slightly upwards, "My brother, Gaerlin, found her as a babe alone in the middle of Greenwood the Great. There was no evidence of her parents or people at the place where he found her, and so Gaerlin brought her back here to Miregroth."  
  
Somewhere within the recesses of his mind a faint memory of a story told by his father came to mind. "Did your brother try to give the child to my father to raise in his household?"  
  
"Yes. You have heard the story then?"  
  
Tarcil chuckled, "Yes, from my father, many years ago, but in truth I only half believed the story until now." The Prince's eyes narrowed slightly forcing a small crease in the center of his forehead, "But this could not be the same girl. That was some forty years ago, and the girl I saw looked barely old enough to be off her mother's apron strings."  
  
Legolas laughed, "Annalome is indeed the same child who the King, your father, was forced to return to the Woodland Elves forty-one years ago."  
  
Tarcil's eyes widened in incredulity, "I beg your pardon, Legolas, but that is impossible. Even those of us who are of the royal blood of Numenor cannot fend off the ravages of time as the girl I saw."  
  
"And yet, she is as you see her. My brother believed that she must be of your kin, but even now that is no longer a believable explanation." Legolas sighed and shook his head, "She possesses the agelessness of an elf, but she is clearly of your race."  
  
The two sat in silence for a moment as Tarcil struggled to grasp the reality of the situation. In the end his curiosity won out. "Her age would go far in explaining her expertise with the bow."  
  
Legolas raised one eyebrow, "Perhaps. She has devoted much time to learning and perfecting the bow, and has been diligent in her practice. I do not think there has been a single day when she has not given time to its study."  
  
Tarcil nodded, "Practice is the path to perfection, and undoubtedly it has helped to have such skilled archers as the elves of Greenwood the Great for teachers."  
  
"Indeed," spoke Legolas, "but I am afraid she has been disadvantaged in the way of a teacher."  
  
"I cannot imagine how? Was her teacher not one of your father's finest archers?"  
  
"Perhaps, but having great skill does not necessarily mean one can impart such knowledge to another. I am afraid her teacher was impatient as well as inhospitable to his student. I am surprised she still finds happiness in using the bow."  
  
Tarcil shook his head in disbelief, "It is not like one of your race to possess such characteristics as you describe."  
  
Those piercing eyes looked directly into the crown prince of Arnor, "No, such characteristics are unheard of among the elves." Legolas sighed, but did not lower his gaze, "Except, perhaps, among the very young."  
  
Understanding swept over Tarcil and his eyes grew wide, "Legolas, I meant no offense. Indeed, I find . . . " Tarcil frowned, "I am sorry, Legolas, but what is the maid's name?"  
  
"Annalome," Legolas smiled, "and I have suffered no offense, Tarcil. In fact it is I who should beg your forgiveness. My enigmatic words have misled you. Please, forgive me."  
  
Tarcil almost did not respond in his shock, but quickly nodded his head, "Of course, Legolas. There was no harm done."  
  
Legolas rose and went to pour himself more wine, "But you came to ask of Annalome. If you would like, I would be happy to introduce the two of you at the feast this evening." The elf filled his glass with the red liquid, but he did not return to his seat, nor did he drink.  
  
"That would please me greatly, Legolas." Tarcil rose, but still the elf did not turn. Tarcil was more than aware of the inner turmoil within Thranduil's youngest son. He reminded him of his youngest brother, Altir. The boy strove constantly to impress their father and prove himself as a man and warrior. He strove to be more than his years allowed, and this made his failures and missteps all the more bitter. Altir was merely eleven years younger than himself. Tarcil could only imagine the difficulty of being the youngest by hundreds, or even thousands of years. Growing up must have been, and likely still was, a painful experience for the elf-prince. Still, Tarcil knew if he broached the subject he would likely only embarrass and upset the elf more. "Thank you, Legolas. I look forward to this evening then. I will trouble you no longer then. You have been most kind to allow me to intrude on you for so personal a reason."  
  
Legolas set the glass of wine down and turned. Not a hint of pain was found in his eyes. "Think nothing of it. I also look forward to your welcoming feast tonight, and I look forward to your company in the coming days as well." The elf led the prince back to the door leading to the vast sitting room. Opening the door he turned to Tarcil, "Can you find your way back to your rooms?"  
  
Tarcil was fairly certain he could make his way back, but he rather hoped he would have an opportunity to explore the halls of Miregroth along the way. "I believe I can, Legolas. Until tonight then?"  
  
"Yes," the elf-prince nodded, and Tarcil departed happily losing his way several times before finding his way back to his own apartments. 


	5. Beginnings and Endings

A/N - Wow! Four moths without updating and now two chapters within as many days - I'm on a roll.  
  
Thank you to those of you have reviewed this story. I find your insights most helpful. A special thanks to PuterPatty, who has done such a wonderful job of reviewing. She has a keen eye, and it helps to keep me on the straight and narrow. The mistake you noted in chapter four was actually due to poor writing. I intended for Tarcil's memory to be of the story, not the actual event, but in reading that portion again I can see the confusion. I'm off to repair it as soon as I post this new chapter. Thank you.  
  
These first five chapters have been very hurried for which I apologize. This sets up the backstory for chapters to come. And as I promised Legolas will play a very prominent role in the next chapter as well as all subsequent chapters. In fact, this story is about to jump about 800 years into the future. How's that for a plot twist? Anyway, the pace should slow-down much starting with the next chapter. Thank you for bearing with me.  
  
Also, because I am in Tolkien's world I have been forced to write about horses. I know nothing about horses, so if I make errors in my descriptions or even if there is better terminology I can use please let me know. I suppose anyone who writes fantasy-based material should educate themselves on the creatures. Unfortunately, I have not done so. I would appreciate any help in this area.  
  
OK, I am shutting up now. Please read on.  
  
Chapter Five  
  
Beginnings and Endings  
  
A low hum hung in the air as Gaerlin entered the glade where the welcoming feast was to take place. There were undoubtedly halls of great magnificence within Miregroth where the feast could have been held, but as with most elven celebrations the earth itself was the true guest of honor. The gray hue of the enormous trunks of the surrounding Beech trees seemed to reflect the silvery light of the full moon, and within the branches themselves hung hundreds of small lamps, which cast their own golden hue on the celebration. At the opposite end of the glade several elves had gathered together and were singing unaccompanied by any instruments. Their pure voices blended together in a multitude of harmonies that was at once both complex and simple. It almost seemed to Tarcil that he knew the tune, but as soon as his ear alighted upon it the song spun away into realms of strange and exquisite beauty.  
  
He entered the festivities with Legolas as his guide and flanked by his men. There was no formal announcement of his arrival as there would have been in his father's palace. Tarcil appreciated not being the center of attention, and he promised himself he would consider banning the tradition when he ascended the throne. Instead, the elves seemed already to be in throws of merrymaking, and few paid much heed to any newcomers.  
  
Legolas led the Prince and his party down the center of the glade. All about him were large round tables covered in what appeared to be the same diaphanous fabric that covered the entrance to the balcony in his rooms. Upon each table was a large bell-shaped piece of glass inside of which many points of golden light darted about as though many fireflies had been trapped inside. The Prince of Arnor stared at the ornaments and marveled at what could possibly produce such a thing. At the base of these strange lights were set many large, white blossoms open to the glow of the moonlight exposing the bright yellow stamens at their centers.  
  
Legolas was leading them to the heart of the glade, where the earth rose in a small mound. Atop this mound was the largest of the tables - large enough for thirty men to sit comfortably. A vast pergola covered the entire table. It was covered in thick leafy vines, and as they came nearer Tarcil could detect hundreds of small purple flowers which bloomed amidst the greenery. The whole scene appeared as though nature itself were embracing the festivities.  
  
Seated at the large table was Thranduil, King of the Woodland Elves, surrounded by his family. His long hair was the same silver sheen of the moonlight, and hung down his back much in the same manner as that of Legolas. His skin was smooth, giving him the youthful quality inherent in all elves, but the keen blue eyes betrayed the many years he carried. Earlier fears of the elven king's demeanor came back with renewed potency. The young prince took several deep breaths to calm his nerves.  
  
Legolas bowed low before his king, "Father, I present to you Tarcil, son of Arantar, crown prince of Arnor."  
  
Tarcil bowed with as much respect as he could muster, and prepared to be scrutinized by those piercing eyes. "It is an honor, your highness."  
  
Those blue eyes bored into Tarcil's head. His experiences in Rivendell with Lord Elrond and his sons had taught him to endure the unflinching gazes of the elves, but it took every ounce of strength he had not to turn away. After what seemed an excruciating wait the King rose from his seat and nodded to Tarcil, "You are most welcome in my kingdom, Prince of Arnor." Thranduil gestured to a seat beside him, "Will you join myself and my family for the feast?"  
  
"You are most gracious, your highness," Tarcil bowed again and moved to take the seat on Thranduil's left. Legolas led the rest of his men from the table to another table not far away.  
  
"You father is in good health, I trust?" the King asked Tarcil as soon as he was seated.  
  
"Yes, quite. He just celebrated his 145th birthday, but everyone swears he does not look a day over 100," Tarcil flashed his most winning smile at the jest. Thranduil smiled, not in amusement, but rather in a more patronizing way. Tarcil felt as if he were a small child being praised for learning his first word. Someone else did laugh at his joke, however. Seated two seats to Thranduil's right was Annalome. Her warm smile greeted him as his eyes met hers, and for an instant he forgot all about the King of the woodland elves.  
  
She was wearing a dark green dress, the color of oak leaves late in the summer. About her neck was a thin silvery chain from which hung a small triskelion, and in her hair he could see more flashes of silver. The way the necklace and hair ornaments glinted in the moonlight Tarcil was fairly certain they were made of mithril. Her long golden red hair was pulled up exposing a graceful neck. Tarcil was mesmerized.  
  
The sound of Thranduil clearing his throat caught Tarcil's attention, and he turned to face the king. A brief glint of anger flashed in the monarch's eyes. "A thousand apologies, your highness. This talk of home has made me long for my father's palace. I am afraid I was caught up in my own memories."  
  
"You have only just arrived at Miregroth, Prince Tarcil. If you are homesick already this does not bode well for the remainder of your stay."  
  
Tarcil squirmed under that heavy gaze, "Nay, highness, it was a momentary lapse. I am eager to begin my studies with your warriors."  
  
A beautiful elf with long yellow hair seated on the other side of Thranduil turned to address the prince, "Then you will not be disappointed, Prince of Arnor. Are you already skilled with weaponry?"  
  
Before Tarcil could answer Thranduil said, "I have been remiss in my introductions, Prince Tarcil. Allow me to introduce my wife, Faenwen."  
  
Tarcil rose and bowed to the elf queen. "Your highness."  
  
Faenwen nodded her head in acknowledgment, and Tarcil took his seat again, "Yes, your highness, I am fond of the sword. My father feels I should be skilled in the use of all weapons, but I spend as much time in swordplay as all the others combined."  
  
The queen smiled a genuine and warm smile, "The swords used by the soldiers of Arnor are quite different from elven blades. Have you had an opportunity to use a sword made by the elves?"  
  
"Yes, your highness," said Tarcil, "I have often practiced with the sword given to my father by the woodland elves when he had completed his training here. It is much lighter than those of Arnorian make, and it requires a deft hand to wield it properly. I have brought the sword with me in the hopes that I might learn more from its makers."  
  
"I am certain you will find what you seek. We have accomplished swordsmen among us." The queen smiled at her husband then turned once again to Tarcil; "I trust you have brought a bow with you. None in Middle-earth can match the woodland elves in archery."  
  
Tarcil's smile widened even further and he glanced at Annalome, "Of that I am certain. I witnessed this young maid here with her bow, and if her skills are any indication then I have much to learn while I am here."  
  
Faenwen laughed a bright, silvery laugh that seemed to ring through the air, "I am twice proud in this respect, Prince Tarcil. Annalome is my granddaughter and her skills are extraordinary for one of your race. She was taught by my youngest son, Legolas, whom I believe you have met."  
  
Tarcil smiled at Annalome and then turned his gaze on Legolas who had taken his place in a seat on the opposite side of the table. "Then surely the teacher and student have the gifts of the Valar. I would be most honored if I could only observe Prince Legolas or the Lady Annalome."  
  
"Then you shall and more besides," said the king. "Tomorrow you may bide your time studying the bow with Legolas and Annalome, and anytime that their duties allow they are yours to command."  
  
Outwardly Tarcil smiled graciously, but inside his heart raced in anticipation of the next day. "Thank you, your highness. You are too kind."  
  
The remainder of the evening went slowly. As was his duty the Prince of Arnor spent his time discussing politics and the state of Arnor with Thranduil and his sons. There was no opportunity to speak with Annalome, and she and many of the other elven women excused themselves from the table and went to dance at the edge of the clearing where the musicians had gathered. Tarcil would have liked nothing more than to join her, but he knew any such gesture would be an insult to the king. The night wore away, his formal attire becoming more and more uncomfortable, and the king and five of his sons seemed to be able to discuss endlessly the world and its affairs. Tarcil conversed with them politely for the duration of the evening, making certain that Arnor's place in the world was not overlooked, but his thoughts strayed often to the possibilities the morrow would bring.  
  
  
  
Sunlight streamed through the trees casting beams off light on the forest floor. The air was cool with only a small breeze that could barely be felt so far beneath the protective eaves of the large Beech trees. Annalome smiled and sighed, "Ah, my lord, it is the perfect day for shooting."  
  
Tarcil smiled at her delight, "Yes, indeed, my lady." His grin broadened, "and I am grateful for such weather. I require every advantage so I will not appear the fool next to your prowess."  
  
Annalome smiled back at the young prince, "Nay, I do not think you could ever look the fool." She reached the center of the clearing which she and the other elves often practiced the bow. Setting her quiver of arrows upon the ground she checked for the various targets, which always remained in the area. Six large targets made of bundled hay with a large three-pronged triskelion dyed blue across their width stood in various positions around the field. Satisfied with the spot she had chosen Annalome removed her bow from over her shoulder and slowly pulled the string back and then released it just as slowly.  
  
"You think I could not look a fool, do you?" Tarcil flashed his most winning smile, "Would you believe that I once tried to fly?"  
  
Annalome looked at him out of the corner of her eye, "Surely you jest, my lord."  
  
The prince laughed heartily, "Nay, I only wish that I did. When I was a small boy my mother would tell me stories of the great eagles that lived in ancient Beleriand. My favorite was the legend of how the eagles rescued Beren and Luthien from Morgoth's fortress. I could see everything perfectly in my mind. But unlike most young boys I did not wish to be the hero, Beren, but instead I wanted to soar like the eagles of that tale. So one day, I tied my bedsheets to my arms and legs and went up to the first level of ramparts at the castle. Thankfully, one of my father's guards saw me and followed me. He only just managed to grasp the edge of a sheet as I leapt over the edge. When I fell back against the castle wall I received a broken arm and a bloody nose for my reward. Now tell me, Annalome, was I not then playing the part of the fool?  
  
Annalome's grin had widened as he finished the tale, but she kept her face turned to avoid him seeing her, "We cannot judge ourselves based on our actions as children, my lord."  
  
Tarcil peered around to see her face and caught the hint of a smile the woman was trying desperately to conceal. "Perhaps you speak the truth, but your eyes tell me another truth. You are laughing at me."  
  
Annalome turned towards him with all seriousness, "Nay, my lord, I could not be so bold. It is just the . . . way . . . you related your story."  
  
Tarcil laughed out loud, "You may have grown up among the elves but you have all the diplomacy of a court-bred lady."  
  
Annalome blushed and bent to retrieve her arrows to avoid any further eye contact with the prince. Attaching the quiver to her waist she turned quickly to the furthest target. In one swift motion she pulled an arrow from the quiver, fitted it to string, and loosed it at the target. Without hesitation she turned and launched another arrow at the second target. In a matter of seconds she had sent a single arrow at each of the six targets, each one with deadly accuracy.  
  
Tarcil sighed, "I am humbled in your presence, my lady." The prince bowed low before her, and once again she found herself blushing uncontrollably.  
  
Annalome turned quickly to retrieve her arrows to avoid the young man's stare. When she returned she handed them to Tarcil, "I believe it is your turn, my lord."  
  
Tarcil grinned at her, and taking two of her arrows he placed the rest in the quiver on his back. He set both arrows to string and in one swift motion he loosed them at the nearest target. One landed a full hands width from the center while the other missed the target entirely imbedding itself in a nearby Beech. Tarcil took a deep breath and sighed, "Yes, I believe I will be receiving a full cup of humility this morning." The prince then barked a guffaw into the air and turned to Annalome, "There are friends of mine who would pay dearly to see me bested so. I am grateful they are not here. I am certain it would be many years before I heard the end of it - if ever."  
  
"Perhaps the bow is not my lord's weapon of choice?" Annalome graciously offered the young prince, "If I recall from last night's conversation you prefer the sword."  
  
"Feeling sorry for me already, my lady?" said the prince with only a hint of a smile on his face.  
  
Her father had warned her of the frailty of men's egos, and Annalome wondered if she had offended the young prince. But the smile on Tarcil's face slowly widened until Annalome was certain he found the matter to be amusing and not insulting. Sensing she was being teased Annalome decided to join the game, "Nay, my lord, I only wished to offer you a graceful exit before I am forced to feel sorry for you." She gazed up at him innocently, "Perhaps you fend off foes by throwing rocks at them, my lord. In which case you would undoubtedly be the master since I do not possess the strength you do."  
  
Tarcil stared at her in disbelief then laughed uproariously. A lady in the courts at Annuminas would never have been so bold as to insult the crown prince, even in jest. And here was this woman who was not even of royal blood, speaking to him as if he were nothing but a stable boy. She spoke to him as an equal. Tarcil found his pulse quickening - not in anger, but desire. Here was a woman who would challenge him, and the thought was very pleasing to the prince. "I have never thought of throwing rocks at my foes, but I might consider throwing you should any opponent approach and you were nearby."  
  
Annalome smiled almost too sweetly at Tarcil, "Then who would you have to protect you, my lord?"  
  
Tarcil thought his heart would burst our of his chest. Instead, he laughed and bowed before her taking her right hand in both of his, "I surrender, my lady. You have bested me with your arrows, your wit, and your charm. I am yours to command."  
  
Annalome had been quite content with the clever conversation, but his mock surrender took her by surprise. An uncomfortable silence lingered as she searched for a response. Tarcil waited patiently, and finally Annalome smiled at him, "Then I command you to tell me how you would like to spend this lovely day. I do not think you truly want to spend it practicing archery. You will have much time to practice the skills of war with the Woodland elves in the coming weeks. Why don't you tell me what your heart desires, and I will accompany you, if I may."  
  
Tarcil rose but did not release her hand, "My heart desires only to spend the day with you, my lady. But, if you are amenable then perhaps we could go riding, and you could show me this beautiful wood you call home."  
  
Annalome felt the heat rising in her cheeks again, but retained her composure, "I would be honored, my lord. I would dearly love to show you my home. I need only a few minutes to change into clothing more suitable for riding."  
  
Tarcil smiled and released her hand reluctantly, "Then meet me at the stables at your leisure, my lady. I will see about some food to eat on our journey."  
  
  
  
Giant oak trees lay as far as the eye could see, their sweeping boughs intermeshing with one another so that it seemed a maze. Sunlight poured through the large branches casting spots both large and small upon the forest floor. Underneath the trees the forest was clear of debris. The large oaks roots pushed out any of the smaller trees or bushes that might have covered the ground and made riding difficult. It was vastly different from the part of the forest that housed Miregroth, where vast stands of Beeches clumped close together along with other undergrowth making the path Annalome and Tarcil traveled slow going. Here the horses were free to ride, and Adanthir pawed anxiously at the ground. Annalome turned towards Tarcil and smiled, "Would my lord care to pick up the pace?"  
  
Tarcil grinned back at her and said, "I had hoped you would suggest so, my lady."  
  
Without a backward glance Annalome kicked Tinnuchwest, and the two burst forward into the midst of the oaks. Without hesitation Tarcil did the same to Adanthir, and soon found himself hovering low over the horses back as he navigated the twists and turns Annalome was making. He soon realized that despite the wide berth between oak trees avoiding them at high speed, especially the low lying branches, was not nearly as easy at it seemed.  
  
Annalome and Tinnuchwest seemed unaffected by the difficulty of traversing the forest floor. Tarcil grimaced and wondered if the woman was going to best him with her riding skills as well. He had not felt threatened by her abilities as of yet, but he hoped there were a few things he could be the master at.  
  
Caught up in his thoughts he was unaware of the large limb that dangled from above in the middle of his path. Ahead of him Annalome swerved to avoid the danger, but Tarcil was unable to maneuver Adanthir in time and felt himself yanked from the horse's back as he impacted the large branch. The wind was knocked from his lungs when he hit the ground, and he struggled to take a breath. Up ahead he heard Adanthir scream and then silence.  
  
After struggling for a few moments Tarcil felt the thrill of air rushing into his lungs. Gulping vast quantities of air he struggled to rise. Instantly Annalome was at his side, "My lord, are you hurt?"  
  
Tarcil shook his head and then gasped, "Adanthir. is he alright?"  
  
Annalome looked back in the direction he had heard the horse's cry. "He has fallen my lord, I have not seen the extent of his injuries. I thought it best to help you first."  
  
Tarcil struggled to stand. Annalome placed one arm around his waist to support him. Together they walked to the place Adanthir lay. The horse was lying on his side heaving short ragged breaths. Tarcil dropped to his side. His front, right ankle was clearly broken where bone was protruding through the skin. The horse's breathing indicated broken ribs, or possibly his neck. Adanthir did not move, and Tarcil knew the horse would soon depart the earth. Sliding over he took the horse's head in his lap and spoke soothingly to it. If the end did not come quickly he would be forced to hasten its arrival. Tarcil shuddered at the thought.  
  
The horse had been given to him five years ago by his father and had been his almost constant companion since then. Grief overtook the young prince, and he wept unabashedly. It was sometime later that he realized Adanthir's breathing had become steadier and less labored. Looking up he was surprised to see Annalome kneeling over the horse's body, her hands resting on the its chest. Tarcil blinked in surprise as Adanthir whinnied softly and attempted to stand. Tarcil placed one hand on Adanthir's neck and comforted him. Annalome moved suddenly from the horse's chest to the broken ankle. Placing her hands over the wound the horse suddenly quieted down.  
  
After many minutes Annalome removed her hands. Tarcil stared unbelieving at Adanthir's hoof, which showed no evidence that it had been broken at all. As if Adanthir knew that he had been healed he clumsily rose to a standing position. Tarcil remained on the ground, unbelieving.  
  
"How. how did you." he could not seem to form a sentence. Annalome had risen with Adanthir, but as Tarcil looked up at her she began to sway. Realizing she was about to collapse he jumped to her side, groaning at the pain in his right shoulder where the tree limb had hit him. Grasping her about the waist he helped her to the ground once more. "My lady, are you well?"  
  
Annalome smiled weakly at him, "It is not easy to heal such wounds, my lord. Have no fear, I need only a small amount of rest to regain my strength."  
  
Sitting next to her he let her body fall back against his chest. "You have extraordinary powers, my lady. I have never heard of such a thing except among the firstborn, but I am eternally grateful to you. Adanthir is most dear to me."  
  
"It is true that the elves possess healing capacity, but it is not the same," Annalome spoke weakly. "I discovered my ability a number of years ago. I have spoken to many of the elves about it, including their best healers, but none can explain it. I am somewhat of an enigma, even to the elves, and that is saying something."  
  
Even in her exhausted state Tarcil could detect a hint on melancholy in her voice. "It has not been easy for you to live here among the elves," he said.  
  
"In some ways, yes, my lord. They do not understand humans, and I believe many of them are truly saddened by our presence. Even now they feel their time in Middle-earth dwindling, and they know that humans are the heirs. They worry that we are not up to the task. But, they have much love and compassion, and for this I have enjoyed my time here with them."  
  
"Would you ever consider leaving Miregroth, and going to live amongst men? I would like nothing more than for you to travel with me to Annuminas when I depart." Tarcil felt a lump in his throat.  
  
"I have considered visiting the world of men, and I would love to see the capital of your country, my lord. But where would I stay? I have little to offer your world, I think."  
  
Tarcil laughed, "You would stay in my father's palace, my lady, and all your wants and desires would be fulfilled there. As for what you have to offer my world. Your knowledge, and your skills are more than enough, but I admit I ask you to come with me for more selfish reasons. I find that I enjoy your company very much, and I dread the day we would part. If I may be so bold, my lady, for me you offer great happiness."  
  
Annalome smiled, "Your words are very bold, my lord, but I sense the truth in them. I will not give you an answer yet. You have many weeks yet at Miregroth, and this is not a decision I would make without some thought. You shall have your answer before your departure feast."  
  
Tarcil could have laughed for joy at the answer. Even through her carefully guarded words he could hear the desire in her voice. "My lord," Annalome interrupted his thoughts. I believe I am well enough to sit my horse. We should return to Miregroth so that I might rest in a proper bed."  
  
Reluctantly Tarcil felt her pull away from him, but he rose with her and helped her onto the horse.. She swayed a bit from Tinnuchwest's back. "My lady, is Adanthir fully healed?"  
  
"He is as he was before his fall, my lord."  
  
"Good. You are in no condition to ride Tinnuchwest, especially without a saddle to hold onto. You will ride with me on Adanthir, and I believe Tinnuchwest will follow."  
  
Annalome looked as if she might argue, but then sighed, "You are correct, my lord. It will be as you say."  
  
He helped her down from Tinnuchwest's back and carried her to Adanthir. As he expected Tinnuchwest followed Adanthir back to the hall of the woodland elves. Annalome fell quickly to sleep with his strong arms to keep her from falling. Tarcil cherished the ride back with Annalome in his arms, and thought of what the future might hold.  
  
  
  
Gaerlin stood at the eaves of Greenwood the Great. The company of men had nearly passed from even his keen eyesight into the grasslands which lay to the west of his home. His eyes could still see the glint of sunlight on golden-red hair, and he held his gaze to that spot. Finally, there was nothing more. The humans had left Greenwood the Great, and all the elves would find peace in their departure. Except Gaerlin.  
  
The woman whom he called daughter had gone away from his home, and he despaired at the thought of ever seeing her again. He had seen the fondness growing between Tarcil and Annalome during his stay, and he was certain she would be his wife within the year. All the elves had called her decision to depart with Tarcil a blessing. Most believed she would be happier among those of her own race, but Gaerlin felt differently.  
  
Perhaps it was a father's love clouding his judgment, but he did not believe Annalome was among her own kind. While she was most certainly not an elf, she possessed many elvish qualities. He feared she would not be accepted in Tarcil's society or that as the years passed her eternal youth would frighten the Arnorians. Somehow he knew that she would not age, not like men.  
  
Turning to his side he caught Legolas staring off in the direction Tarcil and his men had taken. "I would have thought you would be relieved to be rid of your pupil, my brother."  
  
Legolas turned his gaze to his brother, "I know that I would have felt that way once, but I misjudged Annalome." The younger elf turned to stare once again at the grasslands stretching before them. "She was much more than she appeared, but I did not see it for so long."  
  
Gaerlin sighed, "Perhaps this is not goodbye, Legolas. Perhaps it is only an ending. Who knows what new beginnings lie before us?"  
  
Legolas turned to his brother and smiled sadly. Turning his back on the plains he began making his way into the heart of Greenwood the Great - towards home. 


	6. Return to the Wood

A/N - thank you to all who reviewed the last chapters. It really is wonderful to find reviews waiting after you post your hard work. On that note, to answer Kallie's question - I did not really state how long Tarcil was at Miregroth, but in my head I was thinking about 4 or 5 months.  
  
I placed some definitions of certain words and phrases at the end of the story, If you are unsure of any of the things I said check there.  
  
Well, I promised you more Legolas, and I think I have delivered. He will play a very central role in the remainder of the story. Now, on to the story.  
  
  
  
Chapter Six  
  
Return to the Wood  
  
  
  
Large oak trees with their thick, knotted trunks stretched as far as the eye could see broken only here and there by thickets of Hazel. Sunlight gleamed from overhead filtering down between the trees in wide pools. Not a breath of wind stirred the leaves, and the lack of moving air kept the day warmer than Annalome would have preferred. Nearly eight hundred years she had dwelt in the north of the land, and although she had spent the last few years in sunny Gondor she never held any fondness for warm days. Despite the warmth, however, she shivered.  
  
She had entered the eaves of Greenwood the Great earlier that day. At first the wood had seemed no different than any other forest. And yet, there was something amiss from the start. Thranduil had always kept patrols on the borders of the forest, even as far to the south as she was. The presence of elves left a certain feel to a land. It was as if the earth itself nearly sang for joy at the mere presence of the firstborn. But the land whispered to Annalome of an absence of the fair folk, and of a yearning for them to return. Slowly she became aware of a feeling of uneasiness. Her senses were heightened as if they were aware of some great danger which Annalome herself could not yet reason out. The feeling had grown the further she traveled into the vast woodland.  
  
Gently she pulled back on Argil's reins and the horse slowed to a stop. Staring intently into the surrounding trees Annalome searched once again for the cause of her uneasiness. Abruptly she realized that the forest was perfectly quiet. The only sounds she could hear were the gentle breathing of her horse and the soft swish of his tail. There was no animal, bird or otherwise. There was only an eerie, prolonged silence.  
  
Slowly Annalome checked for the long knife, which hung from her saddle. She unfastened the sheath that contained it so that the blade would be at the ready if she needed it. Satisfied she then grabbed her bow and set one of her arrows to the string. Annalome was more certain than ever that danger was close by.  
  
She had chosen to enter the forest at its most southwesterly point so that she might travel the full expanse of what had at one time been her home. She now reconsidered that decision. If the feeling of danger was growing with every league she traveled into the forest then perhaps it would be best if she retraced her steps and then circled the outskirts of the wood until she was much further to the north.  
  
Having made up her mind to go back the way she had come she was about to turn Argil around when a new feeling suddenly swept over her. Slowly a smile spread across her face. She scanned the surrounding treetops but could see nothing. In all her long years in Middle-earth she had not yet discovered how to spot an elf who did not wish to be seen. ""I cannot see you, but I know you are there. I am a friend of the Woodland Elves, though it has been many years since I have visited your land."  
  
Suddenly an elf landed, cat-like, on the ground in front of her. In her head she cursed that he had been able to get so close without her perceiving him. The elf stood up straight and regarded her for a moment. He was blonde, like most of Thranduil's people with the gray eyes of the Silvan elves. "You are most welcome, your highness, in Greenwood the Great. And though it has been many years since you dwelt among us I remember still," the elf inclined his head respectfully, "However, if you are the elf-friend you claim then why is your weapon at the ready?"  
  
Annalome sighed, "Forgive me, your highness, until this moment I had feared I was in grave danger." Annalome returned her bow to the saddle catch and the arrow to her quiver then dismounted. She inclined her head in the elf's direction, "I had not expected to find you, Prince Legolas, but I am grateful for your presence."  
  
The hint of a smile had been playing on Legolas's face, but at the mention of danger it had turned into a decided frown. "My lady, we also have sensed this danger. I know not its source, but my father has bestowed upon me the task of discovering it."  
  
That the elves were aware of the same danger she felt was of some comfort, but it made her uneasy that they were as puzzled by it as she was. "Where is the source of this uneasiness, my lord?"  
  
Legolas turned his gaze to the north and west, "It lies in that direction, my lady, towards Amon-I-taur."  
  
Both Legolas and Annalome stood for sometime staring in the direction that the great hill lay. The momentary respite their conversation had provided was disrupted once again as the silence once more settled in, thick and suffocating.  
  
Movement caught Annalome's eye, and her hand flinched involuntarily for the knife she had left on Argil's saddle. Another elf appeared out of the trees on her right. She allowed herself a small sigh of relief even as she and Legolas were joined by four additional elves. Legolas introduced her, but there was no need. Annalome remembered each of them and they in turn had not forgotten her.  
  
The youngest prince of Greenwood the Great gave orders for the others to set a perimeter. The sun had begun its westward descent, and Legolas decided that they would make their camp for the night at this place. Ainaelin, a female elf with uncharacteristically blue eyes, helped Annalome to remove her belongings from Argil. Legolas and his companions had horses that were grazing nearby, and Ainaelin took Argil to join them.  
  
Once the others had been set to their various tasks Legolas turned around to face Annalome, the worry clearly visible in his fine elven features. "What brings you to this part of Greenwood the Great, my lady?"  
  
Annalome sighed, "Might we dispense with the formalities? It has been hundreds of years since I was a queen of Arnor, and such titles no longer suit me. When last we met you called me Annalome and I called you Legolas."  
  
Legolas smiled sadly, "That was many years ago, but it will be as you wish, Annalome."  
  
Annalome stared curiously at the elf. Strange that Legolas considered 800 years such a long time. Amongst the Firstborn it was a short time indeed. It occurred to her that Legolas, despite his years of experience, was still young for an elf and perhaps did not see the world in the same way. Instantly she felt a kinship with him that she had never felt during her time in Miregroth. "I was journeying to your father's hall, Legolas. I came from the woods of Lothlorien, and I had a mind to ride through this wood on my way."  
  
Legolas nodded, "Tomorrow, I will send Ainaelin as your escort to Miregroth. This quiet and uneasiness will lessen as you travel north, but I would not have any harm come to my brother's daughter."  
  
Annalome shook her head, "No, Legolas, I wish to remain and join in your hunt. There is something very wrong here in Greenwood, and I would know what it is."  
  
The elf did not respond, but seemed to consider her for a moment. Finally, as if reaching some decision he said, "I cannot say for certain, but I sense there is evil in this. The feel of it is new, and so barely felt, but I grow more certain of it with each passing hour. I do not know what we will encounter. It would be better for you to continue on to Miregroth with Ainaelin."  
  
"If you are unsure of the danger then it would be foolish to leave yourself with one less to help defend against the unforeseeable. If I remain then Ainaelin will remain as well, and with myself you would then have an additional force against the threat." Seeing Legolas was not going to agree she continued, "If you are concerned that I would be more of a hindrance than a help, then remember that I was once Queen of Arnor. The royal family, be they male or female, are well educated in the arts of battle. And if this does not suffice then perhaps you should remember who it was that taught me the bow."  
  
Legolas shook his head, "I can see that your stubbornness has not diminished in all your long years." The elf turned and Annalome detected the hint of a sigh before he said, "You are no longer my father's subject, and therefore I have no authority to order you to leave. You are however, in my father's realm, and as my father and elder brothers are not here I am given authority to rule as I see fit. I will send you away if I feel your life is threatened."  
  
"I find this acceptable, Legolas. Let us pray, however, that the situation does not warrant such action."  
  
Legolas nodded slowly, "Let us prepare our camp for the night then. It will be much colder this evening. We should gather what wood we can for a fire," the elf-prince turned to gaze once more in the direction of Amon-i- taur. Once again the silence descended leaving Annalome feeling ill at ease. When Legolas turned towards her once more her own feelings were mirrored in his fine elven features. He seemed to consider her for a few moments then said; "I think we should take to the trees for our rest this night, though it may prove to be of some discomfort for you, Annalome. Perhaps this peculiar silence has made me anxious for naught, but I would rather take the precaution than regret not having done so this evening."  
  
Annalome smiled, "Do not worry for my comfort, Legolas. This would not be my first night sleeping in the trees." Stooping down, Annalome reached into one of her saddlebags and retrieved what seemed a great mesh of rope. Looking up into the boughs of a nearby oak she nodded as she found what she was looking for. Throwing the rope over one shoulder she grasped the branch nearest to the ground, which was almost as thick as the trunk itself, and pulled herself up on top of it. She was grateful for the divided skirts she wore for riding otherwise her ascent into the large oak would have proven quite difficult. Still, she knew she must appear very graceless indeed in the eyes of a Woodland Elf.  
  
When she had reached a point some twenty feet above the ground she took the rope bundle from under her arm and began unraveling it. She tied one end to the branch she stood on and the other end to one nearby, and at the same level as the first. Between the two branches was a large meshwork of rope. Carefully she climbed into her bed of rope and lay down. From below she heard the golden laughter of not one, but five elves. Looking down she could see Legolas and his band of elves staring up at her. Tauron, a very tall elf who Annalome remembered for the lovely songs he would sing for Thranduil's people at special gatherings, called up to her in his melodious voice, "It seems that soon only the shape of one's ear will tell if they be man or elf, if the Secondborn have now taken to sleeping in the trees."  
  
Annalome laughed out loud then sat up and carefully made her way out of her makeshift bed and onto the sturdy branch of the oak. It was much more difficult getting down than up, but she eventually made her way to the forest floor. "Nay, Tauron, few in the race of men would sleep in my rope- bed, as I have named it, but it suits me well." The air was filled with the sounds of elven laughter once more. The sounds were more welcome than the uncanny silence, and Annalome found herself joining them.  
  
Legolas gave orders for Ainaelin and Teiglin, who was the son of one of Legolas's sisters, to prepare for evening meal while Tauron and Curuwen stood guard. He and Annalome left the camp to search for firewood.  
  
They had not gone far when Legolas spoke, "You are traveling alone, and you have come from Lothlorien. Is all well with you?"  
  
If she could have done so without the sharp ears of the elf catching her she would have sighed, "Were I any other woman I would expect such a question, but I am not any other woman."  
  
Confusion was evident in the elf's eyes. This time Annalome sighed out loud, "Legolas, I have lived for more than 800 years, as have you. My husband, children, even my children's children's children have long since passed from this land. The realm of Arnor, for which I was once the queen, is no longer. Those who are descended from me fear me, and have cast me out of their realm. You ask me if all is well. How should I answer you?"  
  
Where confusion had been now Annalome read pity in the elf-prince's eyes. "I am sorry, Annalome. It is true that your longevity is a mystery to the elves as well, but our own immortality has blinded me to your plight. Please forgive me."  
  
"All is forgiven, Legolas. I have been harsh with you as well. I have traveled to Lothlorien and to Greenwood the Great with expectations of acceptance and understanding. You have done both, and I have rebuked you for it. I also am sorry, and would beg your forgiveness."  
  
Legolas raised one hand, "There is no need, Annalome. I have found no offense in your words."  
  
Annalome nodded, and the two continued gathering wood for some while in silence. When Legolas finally spoke again it was almost as a whisper, as if he were afraid of breaking the silence that surrounded them. "I have never visited the realm of Lothlorien, though many of my brothers and sisters have before I was born. Is it as beautiful as they say?"  
  
"Yes, and more so than words could ever describe." Annalome closed her eyes and sighed remembering the beautiful trees and people she had met. "Though, I was told by the elves who dwell there that the trees are even more beautiful when autumn comes. I should like to visit then if I am able."  
  
"As would I, though there is little contact between the Woodland Elves and the Elves of Lothlorien now. Few of the elves of Miregroth have ever seen Caras Galadon or Rivendell, and only those who hearken to the call of the sea have seen the Grey Havens." The prince fell suddenly silent.  
  
Empathy welled in Annalome for the youngest elf of Greenwood, "I have seen many of your people as they traveled through Arnor on their way to the Great Sea, and each year there are more." Annalome placed her hand on Legolas's arm, "I am sorry for your loss, Legolas. It must be a heavy burden to bear."  
  
Legolas's eyes were wells of anguish, "My mother departed for Valinor soon after your leaving, and many of my brothers and sisters have gone as well."  
  
A knot formed in Annalome's stomach as she watched Legolas struggle to find suitable words, but the pain in his eyes betrayed his thoughts. Tears came unbidden to her cheeks, "Gaerlin has gone then." It was a statement, not a question.  
  
The elf nodded, "He became increasingly withdrawn after you left for Arnor with Prince Tarcil. He agreed to accompany my mother to the Havens but never returned."  
  
Annalome wept unashamedly. Legolas took her hand in his, "He did not forget you, Annalome. When we return to Miregroth I have something he left in my care to give to you should you ever return to Greenwood."  
  
Gripping Legolas's hand tightly she looked into his eyes, "It is a cruel thing that I know not if I shall ever lay eyes on him again."  
  
Legolas produced a small piece of fine elven cloth and handed it to Annalome. She dabbed her eyes as he said, "I may hold the happiness of knowing I will one day be reunited with those who have already departed, but I am certain you and Gaerlin will be reunited one day as well. Except for the evil Morgoth, the Valar are not cruel. You will not endure eternity alone, Annalome."  
  
Annalome smiled gratefully, "Thank you, Legolas. It seems that you have seen your way clear to the heart of my troubles, and your words have given me much peace."  
  
Legolas squeezed her hand once more then continued on in search of more wood. Annalome followed, her heart lighter than it had been in hundreds of years.  
  
When they returned to camp they found that the others had not been idle. The smell of vegetables stewing reminded Annalome that she had not eaten since early that morning. She went to the fire and set the firewood she had collected on the ground nearby. Standing to stretch tired muscles she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. The sun had almost set and a shadow had been cast over much of the forest, but she was certain she had seen movement in the trees.  
  
Whispering so as not to disturb whatever it was Annalome said, "Legolas, you have better eyes than I. See you there in the topmost branches of the oak to the east of our camp, is that not a bird?"  
  
Legolas stared intently in the tree Annalome had described. Before she knew what had happened he had taken an arrow from the quiver on his back along with his bow and in one fluid motion sent the arrow in the direction of the tree. She could clearly hear the arrow hit its mark, and then the thud of Legolas's prey as it fell to the earth.  
  
All activity ceased in the camp as the other elves turned to stare at what had provoked their prince to use his weapon. Legolas, however, offered no explanation and quickly walked to where his target had fallen. Annalome and the other elves followed rightt behind him. He crouched down over the large bird, and Annalome caught her breath as she saw the arrow's target. Lying on the ground was a large, black raven pierced through the breast by Legolas's arrow.  
  
The prince picked up the bird and wrenched his arrow free of its flesh throwing the carcass into the deep of the woods. Rising he turned to face the others, "It is one of the Dark One's own spies. My feelings were not misguided." His gaze once again drifted towards Amon-i-taur, "There is great evil at work nearby."  
  
  
  
  
  
Amon-I-taur - Hill of the Wood. I made it up. Very original don't you think.  
  
Firstborn - the elves  
  
Caras Galadon - the capital city of Lothlorien  
  
Grey Havens - on the Gulf of Lune on the western shore of Middle-earth. Most elves departed for the Undying Lands from here. 


	7. Premonitions of Dol Guldur

A/N - My apologies for the length of time this chapter has taken me to upload, but in my defense I took a small vacation since the last time I updated.  
  
As always, thank you to those of you who reviewed my last chapter. I love reading them. For PuterPatty, yes Annalome and Legolas will discover her true heritage eventually, but not for some time yet. I like the mysteriousness of it all. And much thanks for keeping me excited about this story. It actually has a lot to do with your storyline(Shameless Plug: go read PuterPatty's El gwedh enni A Star is binding me - it is fantastic!) To Kallie, you are a very observant reader, which I appreciate tremendously. First of all, yes Annalome looks exactly the same as when she left, but I did not have Legolas note that since I figured as an elf he would be used to that and the idea might not come to mind all that readily. As for how many brothers and sisters Legolas has, well I don't have any exact figure in mind, but I had sort of decided in my head that he has lots. Here's my reasoning: If I go under the assumption that Legolas was the last of the Woodland Elves to be born in Middle-earth(which I do) then I figure Thranduil and Faenwen (my made-up name for his wife) were, excuse the expression, shagging like bunnies all the time. So, in my little fantasy world there are alot of little princes and princesses of Mirkwood. As for not mentioning them, I was very vague about a lot of details in the beginning, because I needed to set the stage for the main story, which is what you have been reading since Chapter 5. I didn't want to get bogged down in all the details so I didn't. My apologies if this has lessened the story for you, but in general I do have these little details stored in my own head, so if there is anything you want to know just ask away. Also, you asked about Gaerlin and Annalome visiting one another, well again my thoughts were that there is relatively little interaction between the realms of men and the elves. The heirs of Isildur will visit some of the elven lands to train and learn from them, but for the most part the elves have been holding a grudge because of Isildur, and they don't interact. As for Gaerlin visiting Annalome? I don't know, I just thought it would be sadder if they hadn't, but you bring up a good point. I may change this if I feel motivated enough to do so. And lastly, the year for the current story is exactly what you thought, about 1050 of the third age. According to Tolkien this about the time that Dol Guldur came about, and that is the main focus of my story. I don't give exact dates, because it makes my life a lot easier if I just estimate the timeframe. BTW, Kallie, I really love that you get into the details so much!  
  
OK, one last little tidbit. Annalome's healing ability comes back into play during this chapter. I realize that strange healing abilities often are a sign of a Mary-sue. I just wanted to let anyone who might want to read this know that her healing ability is central to the role she is going to play in Legolas's life as well as being an integral part of her character. I really hope this does not give anyone that creepy Mary-Sue vibe, and please if it is over-the-top I want to know. I do think that the end of this story will put all into the proper perspective, however.  
  
All right, I have written a novel before the chapter even begins, so I will stop now. Thanks once again to everyone out there reading, and especially those who have taken the time to review. Now on with the chapter.  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
Premonitions of Dol Guldur  
  
  
  
The company had traveled toward Amon-i-taur throughout the morning and now found themselves at the foot of the large hill. Not a breath of wind stirred through the vast oaks of southern Greenwood the Great. The heat of the sun felt stifling despite the generous shade of the trees. It was difficult not to choke on the air as one took a breath, and although no scent could be detected it somehow seemed fetid and unwholesome in the mouth. Legolas swallowed trying to ignore the queasiness that the air induced. The prince examined the trees in front of him. The uneasiness which he had been feeling as they came closer to the hill had grown.  
  
Legolas sensed that the land around him had changed. Though everything appeared to be in the full, lush growth of summer there was something that whispered of death from the earth itself. Inwardly, he shivered. In all his years in his father's kingdom he had never encountered such vileness. What he felt he had only heard of in stories told by others of his race -- those who had fought great evil in ages past -- and yet the evils met in those stories had gone from Middle-earth long ago. Morgoth had been cast out of Ea never to return, and Isildur had destroyed Sauron, but Legolas was more certain than ever that something bearing a great malevolence was nearby.   
  
Perhaps a new source of evil had found its home here in the far reaches of his father's kingdom. It was said that Morgoth's marring of the Song of Illuvatar would never allow the world to be free from the wicked. Elves and later men had waged constant battle against the forces of evil since the first elves awoke at Lake Cuivienen. It had been more than one thousand years since Sauron fell to Isildur's sword - more than enough time for a new power to have arisen to take his place. The elf-prince allowed himself a moment of sorrow at the thought that it might be his own realm which cradled such darkness. He was hesitant to share his conjecture with the others for he still did not know with any certainty what it was that filled him with so much dread. Whatever was the source of his fears, however, would be found on Amon-i-taur, and the prince was determined to discover it.  
  
Legolas turned Curusul to his right and proceeded along a path that would take them around and up the sides of the vast hill. The sound of the others following his lead sounded loud in his ears. The earth here was quiet, guarded. Everywhere in this great wood the presence of the elves was welcome, but here on the sides of Amon-i-taur there was watchfulness and fear. The earth sensed the evil and the presence of the elves, but it feared what the coming together of these two forces might bring.  
  
Turning to his right he saw Annalome sitting straight in Argil's saddle, and he considered this new addition to his company. She learned to ride in the fashion of the elves, but the world of men has changed her. She is a mystery, neither of the realms of man nor of the firstborn. What is her purpose? The elf sighed softly. Perhaps I should introduce her to Mithrandir. He may have some notion of her parentage.  
  
Sensing the elf's stare the woman turned and smiled sadly, "The land is unwell, Legolas. I can feel the taint upon it as I would an infection of the body." Annalome wiped her hands on her dress as if they had been soiled, "Something festers within the earth itself." Legolas nodded but said nothing. Her own observations confirmed his and yet provided no insight as to the cause. A single drop of sweat rolled down the prince's temple. Legolas paid it no heed, but concentrated on fording a path.  
  
His eyes detected nothing out of the ordinary. There had seen neither animals nor birds since the raven of the previous evening. The thought of the foul bird sickened him even more than the feel of the air, and he had to concentrate to avoid emptying his stomach. The vast oaks around him looked healthy and strong, their large branches bearing the wide, green leaves of their manner. He could find no physical evidence of his feelings, and yet the feelings remained. In fact, they grew stronger with each of Curusul's footfalls.  
  
The company wound their way slowly up the gentle slopes of Amon-i-taur throughout the afternoon. Nothing changed as they made their way, except the growing feeling of uneasiness. The tension felt as a bowstring stretched to its breaking point, but yet nothing happened. Ainaelin and Teiglin held bows with arrows set to string, and Tauron and Curuwen had loosened their swords within their sheaths. Each had laid one hand on their sword's pommel in case it was needed at a moment's notice. Annalome held her longknife unsheathed, as did Legolas with a second hanging at his thigh if needed. Everyone searched the surrounding wood for any sign of a foe, any indication of an attack.  
  
The sun had begun to sink in the western sky when Legolas halted the small group. He dismounted his horse, knife still in his right hand and walked to a nearby oak. It was a young tree for Greenwood the Great. Its short stature and thin trunk and branches spoke of little more than twenty years growth. Legolas stretched one arm to reach some of the bottommost leaves, plucking one from the limb. Even in the fading light of day the elf could discern the mottled yellow and black spots covering the leaf. They were near the summit of the hill, and this was the first actual indication of any disease in the forest.  
  
He heard Annalome behind him dismounting. Turning to face her he showed her the leaf. She took the leaf from his hand and held it close to her face squinting to see in the darkened forest. Turning it over in her hand to see both sides she frowned as she examined the mottled leaf. "I have never seen such symptoms as this in the great oaks, nor in any other tree that I have encountered. Yet..." Annalome's frown deepened, "I am certain that this affliction is a result of this evil presence we have all felt. By your leave, Legolas, I would like to examine the tree further."  
  
Legolas nodded, "It is time we made our camp for the evening anyhow. I do not like the feel of this place, but I do not think we should be moving by night. We will build a fire tonight. If there is an enemy afoot then they are aware of our presence by now. And somehow..." the prince stared into the trees which rose up toward the summit, "somehow I think the fire is . . . warranted." The others quickly dismounted, "Do not remove the horses from our camp, Ainaelin, I want them nearby in the event that we must depart this place quickly. We will sleep on the earth tonight."  
  
The others dismounted and began making preparations for the camp. Legolas instructed Ainaelin and Teiglin to search the surrounding area while Curuwen and Tauron gathered wood and lit their campfire. There was more than enough kindling and dead branches in the surrounding wood. More than should be present amongst healthy trees, thought Legolas. The prince instructed the two elves to build a large fire, and to gather enough fuel to keep it thus. Heeding their prince's orders Curuwen and Tauron immediately returned to the surrounding trees to gather more wood.  
  
Darkness had begun to cover the forest in its purple shroud. There was no sign of Teiglin or Ainaelin as of yet, but Legolas was certain the two would take extra precautions in securing their camp for that evening. The prince turned his attention to Annalome who stood with both hands resting on the diseased oak's trunk. Even in the failing light the elf-prince could discern the look of disgust present on the woman's face. Whatever it was she was sensing was clearly not pleasant.  
  
Annalome's healing abilities had been of some import even in the elven hall of Miregroth. She had been called upon countless times to heal the sick and wounded, and was able to bring them to full health in almost every instance. The elves were known to have healing powers beyond that of men, but Annalome's abilities were beyond even that of the most skilled elven physicians -- another mystery which the elves chose to ignore for the most part, unless her services were required. He wondered how the young girl had coped with her abilities while at Miregroth, and if the elves indifference had been distressing to her.  
  
She had not chosen to disguise her abilities when she had gone to Arnor, and he had heard the stories of the miraculous recoveries of those placed under her care. But as is the wont of men things that defy their knowledge and custom are frequently scorned and often feared. The elves who traveled outside of his kingdom had returned with stories of the Witch of Arnor - a woman who defied the grave and who possessed powers of destruction. And because of this Annalome was eventually forced from her home by her own kin. Fear was a powerful force in Middle-earth. Fear held little conscience or remorse, and fear knew only self-preservation and was without mercy.  
  
Almost unknowingly the prince's head turned in the direction of the summit of Amon-i-taur searching for the hidden enemy his elven senses told him was there. He sensed the fear within himself, and the fear of the earth under his feet. Would fear prevail here? Will I allow it to control my decisions? Dark thoughts pervaded Legolas's mind, and the prince sought escape.  
  
Going to a large oak directly in front of him, and placing one slender hand on the lowest branch, Legolas hoisted himself into its branches. Swiftly he moved from branch to branch ever upwards into the canopy of the vast forest. In no time he had made his way into the uppermost branches of the tallest oak in the vicinity. From there he could see much of the forest below and also look into the trees crowning Amon-i-taur. There was little wind up above Greenwood the Great as below, but the air did not seem rotted and rank here. Legolas gulped down deep draughts displacing the old air with the new.  
  
Suddenly he felt eyes upon him. Twisting from his perch he looked toward the summit once again. The feeling had come from that direction, but he could see nothing in the surrounding trees. Nothing moved in that airless space, and yet there was something watching him. Legolas stared in the direction of the hidden watcher, eyes searching in the darkness for any sign. Hatred and malice flowed towards him from the blackness of the trees. It was not directed at him in particular, but at those who walked in the light. Whatever it was it was spawned of the shadows and dark places of the world, and it loathed all that lived under the sun's warmth. It lived to hate.  
  
Legolas felt the branch give way under his foot and reached out to grasp the nearby thin trunk, but it too broke off in his hand. Unable to stop his fall the elf grasped frantically at the air. His body bounced from limb to limb jarring his shoulder and then a thigh. A broken branch grated his back as his left hand managed to finally grasp something solid. His arm felt as if it might be ripped from his body as he came to a sudden stop. He hung there a moment gathering his senses.  
  
Curuwen called from below, "My lord, is that you?"  
  
"Yes..." Legolas stopped short as he discovered shouting produced a stabbing pain in his back.  
  
"Have you fallen, Prince Legolas? Are you injured?" The concern in Curuwen's voice was undisguised.  
  
Gritting his teeth Legolas called down again, "I am coming down." With some effort he landed on a branch just below him. Pain ripped through his left leg, and he had to fight to keep his balance on the broad limb. The jolt from the landing proved overwhelming, and the prince moaned softly in his distress. Still, his stubborn pride would not allow for the others to be forced to retrieve him, and so with agonizing slowness the elf-prince made his way to the forest floor. The final drop to the ground however, proved too much. His back began to spasm as his leg gave way, and he fell at once to his knees.  
  
Instantly the others gathered around him. "This is a task for a healer. Annalome, help him." The voice was Teiglin's. Legolas would have smiled if not for the pain. His sister's son had always played nursemaid to the prince whenever he managed to injure himself.  
  
Cool hands touched his face. The left hand felt smooth, but the first two finger of the right hand felt rough in comparison. An archer's hands, thought the prince. The hands drifted to his back and within moments the spasms ceased. The prince dared not move again for fear of sending the muscles into seizure once again. Heat seemed to build in the agitated muscles until it seemed to Legolas that they must be on fire, and yet the sensation was not painful. Suddenly the heat disappeared and was gone. The hands moved.  
  
As Annalome's hands contacted his shoulder he became aware of how much it ached. Within moments the heat had returned, growing and growing. Time drifted slowly as the healing continued until, once again, the heat dissipated suddenly leaving no pain. The hands moved once again. "Legolas, you can rise. Your back should not give you pain. Turn and sit, and I will see to your leg."  
  
Legolas obeyed, slowly at first, until he realized that there was, in fact, no pain. He turned himself and sat on the ground, leg stretched out before him. The limb ached from the movement, and there was the scarlet of his blood soaked into his leggings. An odd lump was visible in the material. The severity of the wound was soon forgotten, however, as Annalome placed both hands on his thigh. He watched her even as the now familiar heat began to build once again. Her eyes were shut, but he could see the intense concentration in her face. He felt nothing, but cried out in awe as he watched the lump slowly disappear leaving only the smooth contour of his muscled thigh. The heat became intense and he felt his breathing coming in short ragged gasps. He felt as if he could not endure another second when suddenly it ended.  
  
Annalome knelt over him, eyes still closed. She was breathing hard, as if she had been running for some great distance. Legolas placed his hand on her shoulder, "Are you well, Annalome?"  
  
Opening her eyes Annalome smiled weakly, "I am well, Legolas, only very tired. Healing requires much strength, and your wounds were severe."  
  
"You have my gratitude."  
  
"Think nothing of it, Legolas." Annalome grinned, "Now, rise, Prince, and tell me if my healing talents have diminished."  
  
Legolas stared at her in surprise, but she only nodded her assurance. Taking Teiglin's outstretched hand Legolas rose to his feet. No hint of pain or stiffness remained of his wounds. The only sign that he had been injured was the vast bloodstain on his leggings. "I am fully healed, Annalome. Your talents show no signs of atrophy."  
  
Annalome smiled once more. Legolas knelt and grasping her about the waist helped her to rise. "You must rest by the fire now." He led her over to the roaring blaze that Curuwen and Tauron had built. He helped her down to rest against the trunk of one of the nearby oaks.  
  
"My lord?" Teiglin interrupted, "How came you to be injured?"  
  
Legolas frowned. "It is a strange thing, Teiglin. I had climbed to the top of that oak tree for a better view of our surroundings. There was little to see, but I became aware of something watching me. I could not discern it in the darkness of the trees, but I am certain it was coming from the direction of the summit of this hill. I felt its gaze upon me, and it was filled with hatred. It was then that the branch gave way beneath me. I cannot understand why because it was more than large enough to bear my weight. I reached out for the trunk of the tree to keep me from falling. It too broke, though I do not see how for it seemed hale and strong to me as well. I fell for some time before I was able to catch hold of a branch." The prince shook his head in disbelief, "I do not understand what happened. The branch should not have broken so easily."  
  
"I believe I understand what happened, Legolas," Annalome said. "While you were giving orders to set up camp I examined that tree over there. Its leaves are mottled with black and yellow, but this is only a symptom of a greater tragedy." Annalome pulled the longknife from her belt and suddenly thrust it into the trunk of the tree she was resting against. The elves cried out to see such violence done to one of the earth's living creatures, but Annalome raised a hand to forego their protests. "Come and see," Annalome jerked the blade free of the tree as the others gathered close.  
  
A black liquid oozed forth from Annalome's cut. Even in the darkness of twilight the fluid appeared as midnight, thick and disgusting. Curuwen removed herself from the group and she could be heard vomiting not far away. Legolas stood motionless for a moment before he suddenly grasped Annalome and pulled her away from the tree and its oozing wound. "How can this be? I have never encountered the like."  
  
"Nor I," Annalome answered, "but it says much as to why the tree could not bear your weight. The trees here are rotting, Legolas, but from the inside out. That is why we could discern nothing wrong. That tree is small and young compared to most in this area of the forest. It is only now exhibiting on the outside what has clearly been affecting it on the inside for some time now."  
  
Legolas still stared in horror at the oak tree. His mind reeled at the thought of what could have produced such a sickness. A part of him wanted to set fire to the forest, and thereby destroy whatever venom flowed into the living things here. And yet his elven sensibilities were sickened at the thought. No Woodland Elf would even consider harming a tree, but this newfound disease repulsed him.  
  
For what seemed an eternity of moments all stood there in the light of the fire staring at the blackness as it oozed forth. Legolas, however, was the son of Thranduil, King of the Woodland elves. It was said that his stubbornness rivaled that of the dwarven lords, and this had been imparted to his offspring. Where shock and abhorrence had been now came resolve. Turning to face the others he said, "We will set watch this evening. Teiglin and Curuwen will have the first watch. Tauron and Ainaelin will take second, and Annalome and I will guard the morning hours."   
  
Those of the elven race were slow to anger, but once done they were fierce in their retribution. Legolas had never felt such rage before. This was his home, and there would be no rest for those who had brought about this affliction. "Whatever has sickened the trees of Greenwood the Great we will seek it out, and we will bring it or them to my father for him to render justice. Though I cannot imagine what punishment would suffice for such an atrocity."  
  
The other elves only nodded slowly and then turned to perform their duties for the evening. Legolas, still supporting Annalome helped her nearer to the fire, but he did not allow her to rest against any of the nearby trees. He placed a bedroll beneath her head, and laid her cloak atop her. When he looked at her it seemed to him that she wished to say something, but he did not wish for companionship then. As soon as he was certain of her comfort he removed himself far from the others.  
  
His thoughts roamed in darkness for the remainder of the evening, and he remained apart from the others even when the meal was served. Teiglin and Curuwen moved to their positions at the outskirts of the camp, and Teiglin suggested the prince go to his own bedroll and rest. He waved him off, and did not even notice the elf's sigh of resignation as he left. Evening melted into night, and the prince remained awake and alone with his thoughts when he suddenly became aware of the presence. The eyes had returned. 


	8. The Children of Ungoliant

A/N – I am sorry this has taken so long to post.  To make a long story short – I have to be motivated to write, and sometimes that just takes a while.  I am sorry for those of you who follow along, because I know how awful it is to wait for the follow-up to a good story (right now I am almost prepared to search out J. K. Rowling and tie her to her computer, typewriter, or notepad until she finishes Book 5 – not that I even consider myself worthy enough to even kiss her feet).  So, I will do my best to update as much as possible.  Having said that, for those of you who truly enjoy this fic you should search out author PuterPatty and thank her.  She has on more than one occasion kept me going when I had all but given up.

I would also like to thank Kallie, Mara, Linteia, and Legoals – who are VERY persuasive in their reviews.  Linteia is a gentle encourager; however, Legoals is much more – fierce.

Now for the last chapter's reviews:  PuterPatty first of all I only wish I knew if Legolas inherited his parents' sex drive, but as for my very fertile imagination . . . .   Secondly, you mentioned the part about how the healing felt for Legolas.  If you've ever had Reiki performed on you, that is the sensation I was going for.  If you have not ever had Reiki done – I highly recommend it!  As for your suspicions about where my story is headed – I ain't talkin'!  ;-)

Kallie, I don't think Annalome wants her powers to go away, but I think she always felt somewhat removed from the humans around her because of them.  I like to think it is a commonality between her and Legolas.  I think Legolas suffers from being the youngest elf.  He is still in love with Middle-earth and all its wonders while the majority of the elves are falling to the longing for Arda.  Neither feels at one with their kin, and so I hope this will bring them closer to one another.  As for how she was regarded by her kin for 800 years?  Well, these were men of Numenor, and so many lived for 400 years.  At first she would likely seem little different from them.  But as the years increased the distrust and dis-ease would have also increased until fear took them and they drove her out.

Muse of Lucius, I don't know when I'll get back to the LotR/HP crossover fic, but you'll be the first to know.

And finally, Mara.  A Mary-sue is a female character inserted into the world of Middle-earth(or any other known fiction) whose sole purpose is to be besotted with some male character in the story.  Generally the plotlines surrounding Mary-sues are highly contrived, bordering on ridiculous, and the male character in question is generally so out of character as to be recognizable only by the name.  Hope this helps.

OK, without further ado . . .

Chapter Eight

**The Children of Ungoliant**

            The youngest prince of Greenwood the Great rose slowly from the ground, eyes searching the nearby trees.  Once again malice and hatred poured forth from the unseen watcher.  Midnight lay under the eaves of the trees and even the eyes of the Firstborn could not penetrate the inky darkness.  Legolas walked slowly toward the spot where Teiglin stood keeping watch, never taking his eyes from the place where he felt the cold stare.  Nothing stirred within the trees.

            As he came to stand next to Teiglin the other elf whispered, "I feel it as well, my prince.  It is a wonder the whole camp has not been alerted to the presence.  Its gaze freezes the blood."

            Legolas nodded, "It is the same presence I felt as I watched from the top of the oak."  He sensed that Curuwen had come to join them even as the elf came to stand beside him.  "The feelings it has for our party are quite clear, but I cannot say what its intentions are.  We will not seek this presence out under the shadow of night.  Like all creatures of evil it will thrive in this darkness.  We will wait and keep watch.  When the light of day has graced us once again we will look for it."

            "Should we wake the others, Prince Legolas?" Curuwen asked.

            Legolas shook his head, "Nay.  Let the others gather their rest while they may, we know not what lies ahead."

            "Then you should as well, your highness," Teiglin spoke.  His sister's son had ever been watchful of the young prince, and often pushed aside the propriety due to one of Thranduil's sons when he felt Legolas put himself or his health in danger.

            Gray eyes met blue eyes and a momentary war of wills took place between the two elves.  Curuwen shifted slightly as the uncomfortable silence lingered.  Finally Legolas sighed, "I will take my rest, my nephew, but you are to wake me if there is even the smallest change."  Legolas held Teiglin's gaze in his own until the other elf nodded his agreement.  He then turned to the Curuwen, "I expect the same of you."  Bowing low before her prince Curuwen then turned and quickly made her way back to her position on the east side of the camp.  Legolas noted that she seemed relieved to be away from the both of them.

            Turning once more Legolas nodded to Teiglin and then made his way to the fire, which still blazed furiously.  Passing close to the sleeping forms of Tauron and Ainaelin, he could see the two elves were awake and alert.  Kneeling beside them he whispered, "We have all sensed the presence, whatever it may be.  Teiglin and Curuwen keep a vigilant watch.  Rest now."  

The two elves nodded and whispered, "Yes, my prince."  Leaving them, Legolas slipped around to the other side of the fire, where Teiglin's eyes could not seek him out.  Annalome lay beneath her cloak, eyes closed in the manner of the Secondborn.  He watched her chest rising and falling slowly.  The woman clearly was in a deep, comfortable sleep and not aware of the evil stare that the elves all sensed.  The prince envied her.  Still feeling the hostile gaze coming from beneath the nearby trees Legolas lay down and stared into the flames of their large campfire.

He tried to quiet his mind and enter the world of elven dreams.  Dreams are what men called them, but in truth they were more reality than what the Secondborn experienced while asleep.  In dreams the elves wandered green meadows, heard the sounds of the river as it tumbled over unseen rocks, felt the cool breeze upon their faces, and smelled the sweet fragrance of flowers in bloom.  It was the world as Illuvatar had meant for it to be.  It was what the world could have been if the song had not been ruined by Morgoth.  Perfection and never ending beauty awaited the elves in dreams, but Legolas could not find its refuge.

The cold, cruel stare kept the world of dreams at bay.  The prince turned away from the fire to look toward the source of that stare, but could see nothing.  Curuwen's back was to him, also looking in the direction of the evil presence.  She sat rigidly, one hand resting on the pommel of the sword belted at her side.  Legolas realized that he also held the handle of his longknife in his right hand.

No matter how hard he tried Legolas could not find the solace of sleep.  He was debating whether to join Tauron and Ainaelin when they took the watch when he felt the hand upon his face.  The hand was cool, and smooth except for the first two fingers, which grated roughly, but gently across his forehead.    Annalome whispered above him, "Sleep."

_At his feet lay water as though of liquid silver, and it lapped gently against the emerald green shore.  Behind him a large willow tree rose, its vast branches flung out overhead to trail down around him.  Willows, the same silver as the lake, dotted the branches and he touched them as if to assure himself that they were real.  Across the lake on the opposite shore were hundreds of trees.  Some were willows, much like the one under which he stood, but there were also oaks and elms and many others which he could not identify.  The trees reached so high into the heavens that they shadowed the entire lake with their branches.  What little he could see of the sky gleamed a faint golden hue, and though he could not see it he knew that the sun was near to going to its nightly rest._

_A cool breeze blew on his face and he closed his eyes allowing its feathery fingers to softly caress him.  The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers and of the earth itself.  Turning around he looked at the shore upon which he was standing.  So vast was the great willow tree behind him that he could see little else. Moving underneath the canopy of the tree's branches he felt safe and secure.  A faint drowsiness crept over him as he moved further under its protective branches.  Briefly he became alarmed.  Somewhere within him a memory stirred of a story – a story where several Periannath had come under the spell of a willow tree and nearly lost their lives to it.  But the concern was short-lived.  Here there was only peace and beauty.  Here there was no fear._

_            Soon he found himself on the other side of the great willow, climbing the gently rising land.  More and more trees surrounded him.  Some with great swaths of tiny white flowers at their feet, others with large stalks of tiny silver bells.  He entered the small clearing before he even realized that it was there.  Here, the trees parted briefly, allowing sunlight to fall on the small meadow.  His eyes widened at the sight of a woman asleep in the center of the glade._

_            Quickly he crossed the glade to where the woman lay.  Where she had taken her rest the earth seemed to have grown up around her as if cradling her body.  Flowers of every hue grew around her sleeping form, and the air here was heady with their scent.  She wore a long dress of gray silk, which seemed to shimmer in the fading sunlight.  Her hair was also of a gray hue but shone with such radiance that it was reminiscent of the ore mithril.  Her chest rose and fell in the slow rhythm of deep sleep.  So lovely she appeared that he reached out his hand to touch her ivory cheek._

_            "It is not her time to wake, Legolas."_

_            Startled by the voice, the elf spun around to see who had been able to approach him undetected.  There at the edge of the glade stood a tall man dressed in radiant silver.  Tunic, leggings, and especially the long cape he wore seemed wrought of mithril, but moved with the grace of finely woven silk.  He came toward Legolas, and as he approached, the elf noticed that his eyes shone with the same silver color as his cloak.  All this contrasted greatly with his flame red hair, which hung nearly to his waist.  The man wore a puzzled expression on his face, "You should not be here."_

_            Legolas stared in wonder at the man.  Though physical beauty to rival the Firstborn was rare, this man's features were near perfection.   "I do not know where I am, nor how I came to be in this place."_

_            The man's eyes narrowed slightly as if contemplating something, "Do you not?"  He then nodded as if the answer had become apparent,  "Then this may explain much."_

_            "What does my ignorance of this place explain?"_

_            The man shook his head, "Why you are here.  But of course you would not understand nor should you."  The man had moved toward the sleeping woman as he spoke and now lay a single hand upon her forehead.  Gazing toward the ever darkening sky he whispered something to her that even Legolas's elven ears could not detect._

_            "Why does she sleep?" Legolas asked._

_            "The fruit of Laurelin drains her of strength.  She will awaken when Telperion's seed has taken to the sky."_

_            A memory stirred within Legolas, "Who are you?"_

_            A warm smile spread across the man's face and he laughed heartily, "Do you not yet know, Legolas?  You have guessed I believe, but do not trust your intuition.  It matters little, however.  As I have said before, you do not belong here, though I do not believe you came here of your own will.  It has been many years since the Firstborn were able to travel their dreams to Aman, but the ability is still there if you knew how to use it.  You were guided here."_

_            "By Annalome," Legolas said.  It was a statement of fact._

_            "Yes," the man seemed sad for a moment, but the emotion was fleeting as grace and serenity returned quickly to his silver eyes.  "I believe so.  Though I also believe that it was unintentional on her part.  She must have felt you were in need of healing or rest."_

_            "Yes, I am certain she intended for me to rest."_

_            The man smiled again, "She will always seek to aid you in whatever way she can."_

_            "Why?"_

_            "Because it is her birthright."  Noticing the confusion on Legolas's face the man raised his hand to forestall the question, "I will tell you no more, Legolas Greenleaf.  Too much has been said here already.  It is time for you to return to Ennor."_

_            Legolas opened his mouth to protest, but the man was swiftly upon him.  He grasped the elf firmly about the waist and laying a single hand on his forehead he spoke softly, "Sleep."_

            Annalome stared down at the sleeping form of Legolas with great concern written on her face.  He seemed unharmed, and yet his eyes were closed, and she had been unsuccessful at waking him.  Ainaelin and Tauron had woken her for her shift on watch, but both had been greatly concerned that their prince could not be wakened.  She promised she would see to him, and bid them both return to their guard.  That had been many minutes ago, and both elves now glanced in her direction with worry written on their faces.

            She recalled many instances where she had found it necessary to awaken her son, and often her husband, after a night of revelry.  Consumption of large amounts of elven wine placed most men in a deep sleep, and the royal line of Numenor was no different.  Often it took extreme measures to revive Tarcil and her son, Tarondor.  She smiled to herself in remembering how much she had relished waking them in such a manner.  Her smile widened at the thought of doing the same to the elf-prince.

            She grasped the water skin from her belongings; the water inside was very cold from sitting in the chilly night air.  She removed the cork and turned it upside down over the prince's golden head.  She was rewarded as Legolas sat straight up spluttering and coughing.  She could not help the slight smile that spread across her face, "I am sorry, Legolas, but I was unable to wake you."

            Piercing blue eyes met hers, and for a moment she detected extreme irritation in them, but the emotion softened quickly into confusion.  "I have no memory of the last hours."  The firstborn never truly reached unconsciousness.  They traveled the land of elven dreams clearly recalling every detail when they woke, as if it had been a continuation of their day.  Time was never ending for the Firstborn.  Legolas's loss of consciousness concerned Annalome greatly.

            "Your eyes were closed, Legolas, and all my earlier attempts to wake you were unsuccessful.  I have seen this only in those of your race who are very sick or badly wounded.  Yet, I searched for any sign of illness within you and found nothing except a sense of calm and tranquility."

            "Truly, I feel greatly rested, and much of the concern I felt is gone."  The prince hesitated, a rare look of confusion upon his face.  "I remember nothing."

            Annalome smiled at him in reassurance, "Whatever befell you, Legolas, seems only to have effects of good.  Therefore, I cannot believe its intent was evil."  Legolas stared back at her but nodded in agreement.

            He had just opened his mouth to speak when Ainaelin yelled suddenly from her post.  "My Prince, there are many glittering eyes in the forest!  See, there!"

            Legolas sprang to his feet, elven eyes searching the inky darkness of the nearby trees.  Annalome rose next to him.  A sharp hiss from the elf told Annalome that he too could see the eyes.  Annalome's eyes strained into the darkness, but all that she could see was midnight.

            "Awake, warriors!  Our foe is upon us!"  Legolas shouted to the others unnecessarily.  Curuwen and Teiglin had already risen.  An arrow was fitted to the string of Curuwen's bow and Teiglin's sword was at the ready.  Legolas also held an arrow at the ready.  Somewhat more slowly Annalome retrieved her bow and quiver that lay nearby.  Somewhere within the trees she could hear the faintest scratching, as if small animals were scurrying in the surrounding trees.  "To the fire!  We will stand with our backs to the fire!"

            Quickly the elves and Annalome moved to the fire and formed a circle around it.  The sounds were coming from every direction now.  Their enemy had surrounded them.  From the corner of her eye, Annalome caught movement at the edge of the fire's light.  Turning she had to stop herself from crying out in fear.  A spider, the size of a hare, was scurrying toward their small company.  Before she could even pull an arrow from her quiver she heard the thrum of Ainaelin's bow as she loosed an arrow at the creature.  The force of the arrow knocked the creature onto its back, the eight legs thrashing in its death throes.  

            From all directions now, the creatures came towards them, some smaller than the one Ainaelin had killed first and some considerably larger.  Annalome swallowed hard, fighting the scream that threatened to work its way out of her lungs.  In all her long years she had mastered many fears, but even the smallest of spiders made her shiver.  Grimly, her mind set itself to slaying the hideous creatures.  She was not as fast as the elves of Greenwood the Great, but her accuracy was no less deadly.  Arrow after arrow flew from her bow, and the pile of hideous, hairy bodies grew.  

Dimly she was aware of Legolas on her right and Ainaelin on her left drawing their knives.  Only then, did she realize that the spiders were too many to fend off with arrows alone.  Her quiver would soon be spent.  She would have need to defend herself with another weapon, and her longknife lay near her saddlebags some ten feet away.  Her stomach lurched at the thought, the taste of bile rising in the back of her throat.

Legolas had moved forward to meet the creatures, giving Annalome time to empty her quiver.  His knife blades flashed in the light of the stars rending leg or head from body or else piercing the foul flesh to the hilt then flinging the dying creature back into the shadows of the trees.  Annalome pulled her last arrow and aimed it for a spider not ten feet from where she stood.  

Before the arrow had even found its mark, she had thrown her bow aside and darted toward the knife.  As if sensing their prey's vulnerability several of the spiders moved in her direction.  The nearest of them would be upon her even as she reached her knife.  In the last instant she dove towards the weapon.  Her hand wrapped around the hilt, and she tucked one shoulder under to roll to the side, all the while pulling the knife to her, grasping the sheath and pulling the blade free.  As she came over onto her back she felt more than saw the evil creature hop to land directly on top of her.  Even as she raised the knife she knew it would not be in time if the creature was prepared to sting her immediately.  Her mouth opened in a silent scream.  But before it landed the creature was suddenly flung away from her, a small dagger sheathed in its side.  Without waiting Annalome jumped to her feet and dashed back towards the fire.  Spinning on her heel as she ran she took stock of their enemies' numbers.

The earth seemed to bubble near the trees with the hoard of spiders making their way towards them.  Nearer at hand three smaller creatures were making their way toward her.  Thanking the Valar for the stout boots made for her by the cobblers of Gondor she kicked at the first creature sending it flying backwards.  Immediately she stooped to the ground and slashed a large gash in the next two, who were approaching side-by-side.

For what seemed an eternity she continued in this manner: cutting her foes to ribbons when possible and kicking away the ones she could not reach in time.  But the spiders kept coming, and Annalome knew she would soon be overwhelmed.  As the minutes stretched on into eternity she became aware of someone calling her name.  Turning she realized it was Legolas.  As soon as he realized he had caught her eye he tossed a knife toward her.  Startled by the flying object she barely reacted in time to catch it.  And even as the haft met her hand, she saw Legolas cry out and grasp his leg.

A helpless rage welled up from within, and Annalome began hacking and stabbing her way toward the elf-prince.  Blind fury melted away the last remnants of fear, and the spiders fell quickly under her two blades.  Legolas had dropped one of his knives and seemed to be cradling an arm to his chest.  He appeared unsteady, and was barely keeping the monsters at bay.  Even as she reached his side he slid to the ground and would have been immediately overwhelmed if Annalome had not been there.  But in the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind she knew it would not be enough.  The spiders were too many, and without the elf-prince she would soon be inundated.

As the reality began to take its cruel toll on her she became aware that Legolas, still lying on his side, was wielding a large, flaming branch taken from their fire.  Either the light or the heat was disagreeable to them, for they cowered before the flames.  Without hesitation Annalome yelled for the others to hear, "They fear fire!  We can use it to keep them at bay!"

Annalome retreated backwards slowly until the heat of their small bonfire burned the backs of her legs mercilessly.  All but the largest of the spiders would not follow her, and these she was able to fend off while she found another fiery bough.  Holding the limb out before her the creatures retreated away from its fiery end.  Quickly she began pulling other branches from the fire and soon had surrounded herself and Legolas within a ring of fire.  The spiders backed away from the flames, but they did not leave.  Their glittering eyes watched and waited for another opportunity to attack.

The heat from the fire was harsh and unyielding, but Annalome was grateful for whatever foresight had made Legolas request such a large fire and for his serendipitous discovery of the creatures' fear of it.  She dropped to her knees and turned to look at the elf-prince.  His face was covered in a sheen of sweat that Annalome did not think was entirely from the heat, and he seemed to be shaking with cold.  A small moan escaped his lips and the arm he had been cradling fell limply to his side.  His eyes were open, staring at her, but he made no attempt to speak.

Without hesitation she pulled him as far from the bonfire as she could, and took his left arm to examine it.  The hand was already turning a faintly grayish cast, as one who has spent too much time in cold water.  She could see nothing wrong with the arm however; except for a small hole in the fabric of his coat just below his elbow.  With some effort she lifted him up to a sitting position, and cradling his body against hers she was able to remove the coat from his left arm.  Gently she lay him back down, but Legolas moaned softly as she did and his eyes rolled backwards, then closed.

Quickly she pulled his shirtsleeve up above his elbow to reveal a large black welt, the size of an apple, on the inside of his forearm.  Without hesitation she placed her hands over the wound and attempted to heal the spider's sting.  Even as the peace of healing took over her senses, she could feel the venom as she pulled it from the elf's wound.  It seemed almost to flow into her veins, sickening her, and threatening to rip her away from the strict concentration she required to heal the youngest prince of Greenwood the Great.  Shadows formed at the edges of her mind, menacing and full of evil.  The shadows beckoned to her, tempting her with sweet release and forgetfulness, but fear and need drove her on even to the point of exhaustion.  She felt her body swaying where she knelt and the shadows grew, pulling at her all the more urgently.  Her strength was nearly gone, but she refused to succumb.  Clawing and grasping she tried to pull herself from the darkness.  But the darkness was too strong.  The shadows grew until all that remained was darkness.

Ungoliant – a giant spider who destroyed the great trees of Valinor.  She was likely the ancestor of Shelob as well as the giant spider's of Mirkwood.

Illuvatar – God.  Illuvatar's song was sung by the Valar in order to create the world.

Morgoth – evil predecessor to Sauron.  Much more evil.  He has since been cast out of the world.

_Periannath_ – elv. Hobbits

Fruit of Laurelin – Laurelin was one of the great trees of Valinor.  The last fruit it bore became the Sun.

Telperion's Seed – Telperion was the other of the great trees of Valinor.  The last fruit it bore became the moon.

Ennor – elv.  Middle-earth


End file.
